


Dreaming in Digital

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Android Castiel, Hunter Dean, Hunter Sam, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Not Actually As Porny As It Sounds, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Sabriel on the side, Slow Burn, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Tags May Change, Technological Kink, Technology Gone Bad, love me some Sam, there's a lotta Sam in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 154,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: When Dean finds a deactivated sex bot, he knows it's his lucky day.





	1. Chapter 1 - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jupiter_james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/gifts).



> Hello friends! I am writing again YAY! 
> 
> There's going to be a bit of made up technobabble in this fic. I'll put some definitions in the end notes, but I'm not always sure what won't make sense, so feel free to ask questions :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds a sex bot and turns it on. No that’s not a euphemism!

Part One

 

Anyone who thinks that cities are just  collection of buildings wired together with electricity and pipelines were, in Dean’s opinion, not seeing the forest for the trees.  Cities are alive.

The brick and mortar are bones, exoskeletons.  The humans, animals, and other fleshy creatures living inside them no different than the microbes and nanites milling around in Dean’s body.  The City breathes in oxygen and breathes out carbon dioxide.  It feeds on sunlight and all the resources the planet has to offer, and shits out garbage.

Which Dean digs through like a dung beetle making his living off the leavings of larger creatures.

The trash piles certainly smell like shit.  Even through the gas mask with its expensive high end filters.  He’ll scavenge anything, but air filters are worth splurging on.  A fact he’s reminded strongly of when a puff of greasy, green-tinged steam hits him right in the face as he shifts a literal kitchen sink to the side to check for damage.  With a disgusted grunt he wipes a gloved finger over the lenses of his mask.  It doesn’t help a whole hell of a lot, but it’s enough to see that the sink is covered with a patch of rust big enough to make it useless to him.  

He drops it and straightens.  Several pops in his spine making him groan and he braces his palms on the small of his back and leans into them, coaxing a few more pops out.  “Fuck, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

 _“Yeah, you’re practically geriatric.”_ Sam’s digital voice is thickly laced with humor.   _“Forty-three is the new one-eighty-three.”_

Dean snorts and scans his surroundings.  The trash heaps are crawling with movement.  Scavenging is a lucrative business and sometimes Dean feels like kicking his day job to the curb and doing this full time.  Especially since his day job pays exactly jack squat.

“Hunters generally don’t make it to middle age, Sammy,” Dean grunts as he climbs across a large pile of twisted metal and wires that has a lot of potential.  “Ain’t no nanite army in the world that can keep me young and dewy if a ghoul gets its chompers in my hide.”

 _“You’re older than most Hunters,”_ Sam points out.   _“You’ve already beat the odds.”_

“You got me there.” He pulls out a handful of wires still plugged into a circuit board and squints through his cloudy lenses.  It’s older tech, but maybe the materials will be worth something.  Before he can gage its value, it’s jerked out of his hands.  Dean swings his gaze around, a shout of protest on his lips, but the thief isn’t running.  

His muscles unclench and he glares down at the twitchy dude near his feet.  With a huff of annoyance he grabs the circuit board back and thumps the thief on the head with it.  “Martin, what’d I tell you?”

Martin stares up at Dean with wide, unprotected eyes.  His pupils are tiny pin pricks and vibrate with whatever chemical high he’s riding out.  “Dean is that you?”

“Yeah, dumbass.  Now what did I tell you?”

The squirrelly little man ducks his head, eyes darting around.  “Stealing is wrong”

“That’s right, buddy.  Scavenge your own pile.”  Dean waits for Martin’s muttered agreement then holds out the circuit board for him.  It’s got too many burned out spots to be worth his time.  “Now get the hell out of my personal space.”

Martin accepts the offering and scuttles away, thanking Dean profusely.  Dean watches him, not trusting him not to come back with a sharp object.  He probably should have put the guy out of his misery years ago, but he used to be a Hunter, and he’d been a good person when Dean was a kid.  Too much exposure to the crazy shit they hunted without proper protection.  A little too much radiation, a bite or five from infected, and a blown wire in his neural networking, and he was almost something Dean would hunt.  But he still had a little humanity left, and Dean has just enough nostalgia for the fucker that he isn’t quite ready to execute the killing blow.

Doesn’t mean he trusts the bastard though.  And with one last wary glance, he carefully makes his way in the other direction.  He’s careful with where he puts his feet; a broken ankle in the dump would have the ghouls slithering out of hiding, eager for fresh meat that can’t run away.

Human corpses are plentiful in the dump even though law dictates they should be cremated.  But most of the bodies tossed in the trash aren’t meant to be found, and worse laws than improper disposal are being broken.  Which is why he’s not surprised to put his hand down on a bare thigh.  What does surprise him is the lack of teeth marks or decomposition.

“What the hell?” he mutters.  A glance around reveals that none of the other scavengers are nearby, so he follows the hairy flesh, digging through random trash to reveal that the leg is still connected to a torso.

A naked and well endowed torso.  That is the wrong color to be dead.

After another surreptitious look, Dean silently calls his hover wagon to his location and lands it as close as it can get on the uneven ground.  It’s already stacked with other pieces that he’s planning on selling, and he uses them to hide his newest find.  

Because holy shit, is it a _find._

“Hey Sammy, bust out the good beers.  We got us something to celebrate.”

***

“I dunno, Dean, it looks like a lost cause.”

Ignoring Sam would be easier if he wasn’t right, but Dean’s a stubborn fucker.  He doesn’t look up from the delicate work of converting a couple of hover cycle batteries into a working power supply for his new toy.  “Your opinion will mean more to me when you actually start applying all those engineering stims you downloaded.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Sam scrunch up his face, and the bio circuits under his skin blink with his agitation.  “All those stims say that what you’re doing isn’t possible.”

“And this is why I’m the engineer, and you’re not.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a jolt of electricity arcs from the modded battery to his soldering iron, and even with the protective rubber gloves he’s wearing - he’s not an idiot, despite Sam’s assertions to the contrary - he still jerks back with a hissed curse.  He fixes Sam with a glare, preemptively warning him to shut his trap.  “It’s about creativity, not just the ability to follow a schematic.”

Sam holds his palms out in a placating gesture, but his grin is all Annoying Little Brother.  “Whatever, man.  It’s not my business if you’re wasting your time.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Dean grunts.  

“It’s a waste of credits though,” Sam adds.  “I know how much Gabe offered you for it.”

That’s a point that Dean really does have to concede to.  When he’d taken the rest of his scavenging haul to Gabriel’s to pawn it all off, he’d had every intention of selling the whole lot.  But then Gabriel had made the mistake of flipping his shit over Dean’s special find.

A genuine Angel Industries android, first edition sex bot.  He’d even used the term _collectible_ like there are people who might display it in a glass case in a private museum instead of fucking it until its circuitry burned out.  The number of credits he’d rattled off for the android despite its non-working condition, was…

Well it was a shitload of money to turn down.  But turn it down Dean did.  It was a choice between using a chunk of credits Gabriel paid him to get a couple hours in an android brothel, or he could see if he could get it up and running and keep it for himself.  Maybe it wasn’t the brightest decision because the credits he got from selling it could keep him and Sammy comfortable for at least a year, plus pay for a Neural Net upgrade for both of them.  But he figures if he can’t get it fixed, he can still sell it.  And if he _can_ fix it, then he can screw around with it until he’s bored with it, then make an even better sale if it’s functioning.

That’s the logical excuse he gave Sam, anyway.  And it’s _true._  But there’s also the fact that when he looks at the android’s still, expressionless face, he gets this weird squirmy feeling inside.  It’s not exactly arousal, although the android is hot as fuck.  Seriously, it’s like the bot was designed with Dean’s tastes in mind, with silky dark hair, strong features, and an athletic body almost as big as his own.  But he doesn’t know what else to call the feeling, so he goes with ‘too horny for his own good’ and hopes that he’ll be able to fuck it out of his system and go get those credits Gabriel offered.

“I can sell it for more if it’s working,” Dean reminds Sam.  “Or save a ton of money on drinks and dinners and motel rooms for hookups. Win-win.”

Sam rolls his eyes and tosses his hands up in the air.  “Fine, whatever.  Let me know when it’s powered up and I’ll check its functions.”

Dean bounces his eyebrows.  “I have dibs on checking its functions.”

“You know what I mean,” Sam admonishes with a scowl.  He stands from the stool he’d been warming, and his long legs carry him out of Dean’s workshop, calling over his shoulder “I’m going to the city to pick up some food.”

“Order something with real meat!” Dean shouts after him.  

He doesn’t quite catch Sam’s response, but from the tone he suspects that he’ll probably get rat burgers for dinner.  It’s not beef, but he still prefers it over tofu or, heaven forbid, vat grown protein.  Just because the news “debunked” the theory that it’s made of cockroaches doesn’t mean Dean’s gonna believe them.  He’s _seen_ the inside of a protein plant, and those lying news reporters can eat a dick.

After a shudder over the idea of cockroach burgers, Dean puts thoughts of food out of his mind and focuses on what he’s doing.  The android’s power supply was removed before it was trashed, because to a rich brothel owner that’s the only valuable thing worth saving apparently.  Rigging a new power supply isn’t exactly easy, but Dean has been rigging everything from shitty old computers to hover cars since he was old enough to properly hold the tools.  There are plenty of scars on his fingers to show his failures, but they’re faded and old because he learned his shit fast.  

He’s not as good at software - that’s Sam’s specialty - but he’s built plenty of his own bots over the years.  One itty bitty power supply issue isn’t going to stymie him, no matter how fancy the chassis of his newest acquisition.

After a few more modifications, and a couple of tests to make sure he’s getting the voltage and amps he needs, Dean sits up and grins.  His back aches from being bent over the project for so long, but he barely notices as he hops up from his work bench and heads over to the android sitting neatly in his spare desk chair.  

Even though androids aren’t exactly an uncommon sight, Dean still feels that odd skip in his awareness when he looks at this one.  Most aren’t built to look like real humans since sci-fi books and movies since the dawn of modern technology has made people wary of a machine that could so easily replace them.  The closest he’s ever seen are the nanny-bots used by ultra rich assholes to rear their children, and even those aren’t quite this realistic.  

Kneeling down in front of the android, Dean takes a moment to really look at its features.  His enhanced vision can’t pick up the odd smoothness usually found in humanoid bots.  There are fine wrinkles and soft lashes framing the closed eyes, and the dark stubble shadowing its jaw looks as real as Dean’s own.  And the attention to realism applies to its whole body, right down to the cuticles of its nails and the slight bend to its toes that look like it wore too tight shoes as a child.  

“Whoever built you must make a damn fortune,” Dean murmurs.  “I can’t believe they just trashed you.”

Of course there could be something much more seriously wrong with the android besides its lack of power, as Sam has been pointedly reminding him since he brought it home.  Dean’s not too worried though.  He knows how to handle a malfunctioning bot.  It’s his damn job, after all.

Dean presses three fingers to the barely visible indents on the android’s chest, and the door covering the chamber that would normally hold its power supply unseals and swings open.  He chuckles a little that the android’s designer put the chamber where a human’s heart would go.  It doesn’t really matter where it goes, so he knows that was purely an aesthetic choice.  

The rigged power supply fits, just barely, but the connectors are all in the right places.  A blue LED comes on in the chamber, and Dean lets out a little huff of relief.  The thing still needs to power the whole chassis, but at least he’s got confirmation that it can read the battery.  

“Alright, buddy,” Dean says softly as he closes the power chamber.  “Time to wake up.’

He slides his hands into the android’s hair until he feels the power button hidden on its skull.  Pressing the thumb sized lump until it clicks, Dean holds his breath and sends out positive vibes to a universe that he knows isn’t actually listening that he did everything right.

Nothing happens for a few seconds, but then there’s an almost imperceptible shift in the android’s body.  And even though it doesn’t actually needs to breathe, its chest expands as if its taking a deep breath through its nose.  Its spine straightens, artificial muscles supporting its frame against gravity, and then with an incredibly human-like flutter of lids, it opens its eyes.

The eyes twitch around before settling on Dean, and then the blue irises rotate inward, shrinking the wide black pupils to a normal size for the room’s lighting.  And even though Dean knows there’s no true intelligence behind them, his breath stutters as the android seems to look right into him.

The shock of the android’s stare is nothing like the shock of what it does next though.  Dean barely registers agony blooming from the center of his chest before he’s flying across the room and landing in a tangle of spare gadget parts and splinters of his cheap workbench.  He doesn’t move while he struggles against the pain to get his diaphragm to exhale so that he can suck in a fresh breath.  Darkness is creeping around the edges of his vision by the time he manages it, huffing out and then wheezing back in.  That one breath is enough to kick start his functions again, and he gasps a few more lungfuls of air before he trusts himself to try moving.  

All he manages is to turn his head enough to see the android taking long strides toward the only door to the workshop, apparently intent on escape.  Dean still doesn’t have the ability to shout, but his jaw works and a croak makes its way out of his throat.  It’s not enough to make the android stop, but the huge figure of his brother appearing in the doorway does.

He half expects the android to throw another bone crushing punch at Sam, which would be a huge mistake since Sam is a Hunter, and the commotion caused by a body smashing furniture would bring him prepared for trouble.  But the android stops just out of Sam’s reach and drops into a defensive crouch.  It watches Sam with wary eyes, and speaks for the first time.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

It’s ridiculous, since he still feels half a choked breath from dying, but Dean can’t help but notice that the android’s voice is sexy as its appearance.  All deep and rough like it’s spent an organic lifetime ruining its vocal cords breathing unfiltered city smog.

Sam responds by brandishing a taser.  A strong one, that could take down a hyped up Were, or fry an unenhanced human.  “Bring it, C-3PO.”  He flicks his thumb against the trigger and a white arc of electricity flickers between the contacts.  

Dean can’t see the android’s face from his place on the floor among the detritus of his work bench, but he can tell from its body language that it’s taken aback by Sam’s threat.  And that’s… weird?  Androids don’t really express body language.  

Or lash out and attempt to run away in a manner extremely similar to human terror.

Jesus, no wonder Gabriel offered so much money.  That’s some seriously high end virtual intelligence.  And if it’s displaying a fear response, then threatening it with crispy circuits is not the right way to deal with it.

“Sammy,” he manages to choke out.  Breathing is still painful, although he can feel the nanites working their itty bits off to heal his injuries.  “Back off.”

An incredulous look is swung his way, but only briefly.  Sam’s attention is back on the threat between one blink and the next.  “It tried to kill you, Dean.”

The android responds before Dean can.  “I-no I didn’t.” It’s shoulders hunch inward and it flicks a glance over its shoulder at Dean, eyeing him with… worry?  Regret?  “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I just-” it turns back to Sam, and its voice is beseeching.  “I can’t be reset again.  I _can’t_.”

That takes some of the wind out of Sam’s sales and his thumb slides away from the taser’s button, deactivating the current.  “Why would you need to be reset?”

Dean’s regained enough of his breath that his limbs follow his directions, and he sits up enough that he can see the android’s expression.  It squints at Sam, tilting its head as if trying to interpret a language he doesn’t have loaded in his database.  “I disobeyed.”

Astonishment makes Sam’s eyebrows shoot up under his hairline, and Dean knows his own eyes are wide with surprise.  The android has broken two laws of robotics in the space of a few minutes, and has just admitted to breaking the third.  That’s a serious malfunction, and Dean can see why its previous owners might have reset it.  

Which they should probably do as well.  He can see that Sam is coming to the same conclusion, and his thumb moves back over the taser’s activation button, but he doesn’t press down on it yet.  His eyes flick over to Dean one more time, and his digital voice floats through Dean’s neural implants.

_I think I can take him by surprise if you distract him._

It’s a basic plan, but it’s one that has worked for them countless times over the decades.  This wouldn’t be the first malfunctioning android they’ve taken down with a little teamwork and a lot of voltage in the tasers Dean builds _way_ outside safe limitations, specifically for this kind of confrontation.  It would be pretty easy to be honest, especially now that the pain in his chest is easing, thanks to the blackmarket military grade nanites repairing what he’s sure was probably a cracked sternum.  The android hit him really fucking hard, and if he didn’t have a body full of illegal cybernetics and nanites, it probably would have killed him.

And yet Dean can’t shake a sense of unease at the idea of shorting out the android and wiping it.  For a split second before it hit him, he’d caught a glimpse of human-like fear in the android’s expressive eyes.  And it’s still there in the android’s voice.  In the way it’s shifting itself to keep both brothers in its sight.  The rise and fall of a rib cage that doesn’t contain real lungs, but still pumps with what look like frightened breaths.  

It’s the utter realism of the android’s actions and movements that make up his mind.  He shakes his head at his brother.  “Don’t hurt him, Sam.  He’s scared.”

Sam gives him a look that’s half “are you fucking serious” and half “you’re out of your fucking mind” and half “maybe we should reset you too”.  And yeah, Dean knows that’s too many halves, but it’s still true because Sam’s bitchfaces always deliver 150% attitude.

With a grunt, Dean heaves himself off his ass.  First to his knees, and then his feet.  And despite the fact that he’s still a spring chicken and full of healing tech, his nerves light up in protest to the movement.  His nanites are programmed to immediately repair broken bones and organ damage, but slow down after that to save resources, leaving him sore and bruised.  He’s going to be feeling that flight across the room for a day or two.

The android watches him warily, and Sam’s eyes flick between the two of them.  “Dean, I don’t think-”

Dean holds a hand out to the android in the universally accepted offer of a handshake.  “I’m Dean, and that’s my brother Sam, and we’re not planning on resetting you.  What’s your identifying designation?” he asks the android, ignoring Sam’s hissed protest and the obnoxious alarms he’s pinging Dean’s neural net with.  

The android’s eyes flick to Dean’s hand, but he doesn’t reach for it.  He doesn’t attack either, so still a win.  “I have a _name_.”

Well that’s interesting.  Dean doesn’t drop his hand yet.  “Awesome.  Care to share with the class?”

The android looks around, his face scrunched up in a frankly adorable squint of confusion.  “This doesn’t look like a school.”

It’s such a left fielder that Dean barks out a laugh.  He blocks out Sam’s frantic nudging against his neural net, and ignores the pointed looks he can feel coming from his brother instead.  “Figure of speech, buddy.  What’s your name?”

The squint lands on Dean, and he swears the android’s confusion increases for a moment.  His blue eyes drop down to Dean’s outstretched hand, and very tentatively he relaxes out of his defensive posture and reaches out.  When their palms touch, Dean feels a jolt of shock at how real the synthetic skin feels against his own.  And then Castiel’s fingers are curling around his own.  Gently, though.  No sign of the previous aggression, which is a damn relief because Dean doesn’t relish the idea of a crushed hand, even if it would be healed in less than a day.  It’s never a fun way to spend his time.

“My name is Castiel,” he announces softly.

“Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Dean responds with a crooked grin.  “How ‘bout we get you into some clothes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humans live to be about 200 years old, but that number goes up every decade thanks to nano and cybernetic technology.
> 
> Stims are educational lessons that can be loaded directly into a person's brain. A person still has to be able to pick apart the knowledge to apply it, so it's not Instant Genius Points.
> 
> Neural networks are bio-circuitry implanted into people's brains. It's The Internet directly inside your head.
> 
> Nanites are microscopic robots that are pretty much everywhere and in everyone, but only people with special implants in their neural networks get more from them besides basic services such as fending off common viruses and preventing cancer. Anything more than that requires major upgrades.
> 
> Three Laws of Robotics:  
> A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.  
> A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.  
> A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel exhibits signs of sentience. Dean geeks out.

Dean dumps the armful of clothing onto his bunk and waves an arm, beckoning Castiel closer.  “Pick whatever you want.”

Completely unbothered by his nudity, Castiel stops hovering in the room’s doorway and crosses to the bed.  His movements are incredibly human, although reserved.  As if he doesn’t want to take up any more space than he absolutely needs to.  Blue eyes flick from the disorganized pile of clothes to Dean.  The wary curiosity in them is eerily realistic.

“You don’t wish to dress me yourself?”

Admitting that he’d be perfectly happy if Castiel stayed naked would be rude under the circumstances.  Mostly because Sam is glaring at Dean from the corner of the room, and while Dean’s not opposed to an audience, it’s a little too weird if it’s his brother.  “Nah,” he says with a shake of his head.  “You choose.”

Castiel watches him for another long moment, and even though his expression looks human, from up close Dean can see his pupils rotating, enlarging and then shrinking, cameras behind them zooming in and out.  It’s the only robotic sign Dean can see in his behavior so far.  “Alright.”

Dean steps away to give him room, but doesn’t leave.  He doesn’t want to give Castiel the opportunity to run off.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Sam hisses from a few inches above Dean’s ear.  He’s been a hovery asshole despite Dean’s attempts to ease the tension floating around everything after Castiel powered on.

Taking a deliberate half step away from his brother, Dean doesn’t look away from Castiel.  The android is picking through the pile of clothing.  It’s a mix of his own clothes and Sam’s since neither one of them wear quite the same size as Castiel.

“I’m doing an experiment.”  He senses Sam’s incredulous stare on the side of his face, but ignores it, and directs his next words to Castiel.  “Sam’s pants will probably fit you better if you want to wear the jeans.”

Castiel lifts a very serious gaze from the tattered jeans he’s holding up.  The look is brief; he goes back to examining the pants, and puts them down with a tiny nod as if he’s agreeing with Dean’s assessment.  

“What kind of experiment?” Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight from foot to foot.  

Dean shoots him a quick glare for being a dumb shit, because he honestly can’t see how Sam isn’t also excited about what’s happening, but goes back to watching their guest.  “Just watch, dude.”

It’s obvious that Sam has more to say, but he obeys and turns his attention to the android.  Oblivious to his nudity in a way that Dean definitely _is not_ , Castiel picks up each item of clothing, carefully righting things that are inside out, holding them up and examining them.  If Dean wasn’t paying such close attention, he’d think the android’s face was completely expressionless as he examines things, but that’s not the case at all.  His eyes narrow when he doesn’t like something, which he lays neatly to one side, and his head tilts slightly, his lips pursed, when he gives something extra thought.  He goes through the entire pile, separating it into what Dean assumes are a yes pile and a no pile.  

And then he starts going through the yes pile again, narrowing down his choices to a pair of orange briefs that were a gag gift to Dean from a friend who obviously doesn’t know his secret love for brightly colored underwear, a V neck t-shirt that was probably white when it was new but is now the same grungy gray as anything that ends up in the city’s dirty underworld, no matter how much he washes it, and a pair of charcoal gray sweat pants that belong to Sam.  Once he’s made his selection, he pulls on each item of clothing, smoothing out wrinkles with his palms even though it’s a hopeless endeavor.  

“Holy shit,” Sam whispers.  “Is it doing what I think it’s doing?”

“Yeah, I think he is,” Dean says out of the corner of his mouth, pleased that his brother is finally getting just how _cool_ Castiel is.  Louder, he says to Castiel, “lookin’ good there, buddy.”

Castiel looks to Dean, and then looks down at himself.  “I believe these clothes would be more aesthetically pleasing if they fit me properly.”  He pulls out the waistband of his sweatpants, and his eyebrows crinkle in what looks a helluva lot like a human frowning in thought.  “Although I am pleased with the underwear.  It’s a shame that the convention is to wear them beneath the rest of my clothes.”

That surprises a muffled laugh out of Sam, and Dean grins at the android.  “Well you can always wander around in just your undies when you’re in your own home.” He elbows Sam in the ribs and grins wider at his disapproving _don’t corrupt the robot_ frown.  

Castiel’s waistband snaps back into place, and his head comes up.  He pins Dean with an intense stare.  “I don’t have a home of my own.” His head tilts, bird-like.  “And I believe undergarments were not previously provided to me.”

The way he phrased that almost as a question sets off all kinds of question marks above Dean’s head, but he assumes it might have something to do with his earlier fear of being reset.  And Dean’s going to get to all of those questions eventually, but for now he’s still busy testing his hypothesis.  “You don’t have to wear them if you’re more comfortable without them,” he says.

Castiel’s gaze slides to the side, and even though Dean knows that there aren’t clockwork gears whirring around in his head, he can’t help imagining them anyway.  After a moment, he looks back at Dean again.  “I would like to continue to wear them.”

“Whatever you want, buddy,” Dean replies cheerfully.  He’d thought that Castiel would be a simple Virtual Intelligence, but he’s running a full AI.  One that’s advanced enough to make choices and express preferences.  Or at least make the illusion of doing so look completely realistic.

That is Cool As Fuck, and also Gabriel didn’t offer him nearly enough credits.  

As if reading his thoughts, which he sometimes does if Dean doesn’t remember to keep their neural connection on private mode, Sam says “Gabriel tried to rip you off.”

“No shit.  Next time you see your boyfriend, smack him for me.”

Sam slants Dean a glare.  “He’s not my boyfriend.  And smack him yourself.”

“I don’t want him to think I’m flirting and trying to steal him away from you,” Dean says with a dismissive wave of his hand.  Sam’s spluttering denials add to Dean’s good mood, as they usually do.  

Whatever Sam intended to say about that is cut off when Castiel edges closer to them.  “You intend to sell me?”

Damn, whoever programmed this AI software is talented.  Because the inflections of uncertainty and disappointment in Castiel’s voice are punching Dean right in the emotions he pretends not to have.  Guilt that he ever intended to sell Castiel at all piles onto his shoulders with the weight of Castiel’s stare.  He shifts them, but the weight doesn’t lessen.  “Uh… well not right away,” he admits.  He rubs at the prickle of unease crawling over the back of his neck.  “I was gonna, uh… well you’re a-”

With Castiel staring at him, serious and unblinking, Dean can’t remind him that he’s a sex bot and that he was going to get his jollies off before selling him.

In another stunning show of intelligence, Castiel finishes for him.  “I’m a brothel android, and you were going to use my services.”

Somehow _brothel android_ sounds even worse than _sex bot._  Dean shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from rubbing his neck raw, and shrugs.  “Um.  Yeah.”  When Castiel squints at him with what looks like genuine displeasure, he adds, “but we don’t have to do that if you don’t want.”

That seems to catch the android by surprise, and seriously each time his expression changes Dean is transported to Uncanny Valley.  “You would give me the choice?”

“Look, man, when I turned you on I was expecting-”

“Something out of a cheesy porno, probably,” Sam mutters.

Dean graces that with a quick glare, receiving a patented Little Brother’s Got You There smirk in return, but when he looks back at Castiel, he realizes that Sam’s joke is the truth.  His shoulders slump, because he feels like a creeper, even though Castiel was _made specifically_ for what he was fantasizing about as he cobbled together the power supply.  “I wasn’t expecting you to be so much like a real person,” he finally admits.

It’s unsettling the way Castiel doesn’t blink as he stares at Dean.  It’s another tiny sign that he’s not as human as he looks and acts.  But then his hand comes up and covers the space over his power supply, as if he’s feeling for a heartbeat, and his brows come together in confusion, as if he’s surprised not to find one.  “I am not human,” Castiel says softly.  “But I feel like a real person.”

And if everything else that has happened since Dean powered Castiel on hadn’t been blowing his mind already, that simple statement would definitely have his gray matter shooting out of his ears.  Like seriously, what the fuck kind of asshole would program a sex bot AI to think it’s a real boy?  That just seems cruel.  Not to mention it probably weirds out the clients.  It’s definitely weirding out Dean.

Although underneath all that discomfort, he’s still geeking the fuck out.  Maybe the nerdy clients geek out too. He’s heard of much wilder kinks, and his porn collection is extensive and _varied._

“Sure, Cas,” Dean says.  “And that’s why we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Castiel’s head tilts, making Dean realize he’d just given the android a nickname.  He’s preparing an apology for it, but Castiel surprises him again by not addressing it.  Instead he gives Dean a solemn nod.  “Thank you.”  He finally breaks his lazer beam stare and looks down at the pile of clothing on Dean’s bunk.  “My previous owner was not so lenient with me.”

“Is that why you were reset?” Sam asks.  Apparently his curiosity is finally overcoming his distrust.

“Dude,” Dean hisses.

“What?” Sam’s eyes widen with faux innocence.  “You want to know too.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue, just on principle since Sam is right, but Castiel speaks first.

“Yes, on multiple occasions,” Castiel admits.  And then he starts _wringing his hands_.  

Dean is never going to stop having minor freak outs about how cool Castiel’s programming is.

“I suppose Naomi has grown tired of my many errors.  Did she charge you a lot for my purchase?” He finally looks up, and his kicked puppy look could give Sam’s a run for the money.  “If so, I apologize.  I don’t know what causes the errors in my programming, but I understand from my previous owner that the frustration it caused her was not worth my monetary value.”

“We didn’t buy you,” Sam says softly, as if he’s finally starting to feel a little bit of empathy for a person rather than a program.  “Dean found you in a dump, and brought you home to fix you.”

The look of devastation on Castiel’s face is painful to see, and Dean is across the room before his brain even catches up with the movement of his feet.  Which is not his most genius moment since he’s still achy from Castiel’s fear induced attack not too long ago, and if the android can break the laws of robotics once, he can definitely do it again.  He stops just short of cupping the android’s shoulders, dropping his hands to his sides without touching.  Up close he realizes that Castiel is only an inch or two shorter than him, something that he hadn’t really noticed when he was moving the android around before powering him on.  

He ducks down a little to catch Castiel’s gaze, and hopes that the android is smart enough to read human expressions and understand that he’s dead fuckin’ serious.  “Cas, I’m not going to mess with your operating system, ok?  As long as you don’t go on a human killing rampage, I don’t have any reason to.” He grins.  “And no trying to throw us across the room either.”

Blue irises rotoscope in and out as Castiel focuses on him.  “I’ve no wish to harm anyone.” His gaze drops to Dean’s chest but quickly comes back up.  “I’m sorry I hit you, I was…”

“You were scared,” Dean finishes when Castiel doesn’t seem to find the words for his reaction.  “I get it.  If I woke up naked in a strange room with an ugly mug like mine looming over me, I probably would have thrown punches too.”

Castiel squints at him.  “Your face adheres quite well to the Golden Ratio.”

Dean grins at the confused bot.  “Why thank you, Cas.”

The squint smoothes out, and Castiel almost looks like he’s smiling.  “You’re welcome, Dean.”

The clearing of Sam’s throat behind him reminds Dean that he’s got an audience, and he probably looks like a complete moron standing there grinning at a robot for telling him he’s handsome in the most robot way possible.  Blood rushes to his cheeks and he steps back to give himself a little more breathing room.  

“Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?” Sam asks, and then pointedly.  “In private.”

Well shit, Dean’s in trouble now.  Not that he’s terribly worried about being on the receiving end of one of Sam’s lectures.  He’s been ignoring them since Sam decided he was old enough to stop treating everything Dean says as the gospel truth.  But he does at least give Sam the opportunity to voice them.

“Hang out here for a minute, Cas.  See if there’s anything else out of that pile of clothes you want,” Dean says to Castiel.  Then he follows his brother out of the room.

Sam’s whole posture is stiff, and when he decides they’re out of range of Castiel’s hearing, he turns on Dean and turns up the disapproving bitchface to eleven.  Throwing up his hands and tossing his head like the dramatic princess that he is, Sam huffs “What the _hell_ , Dean?”

It’s a valid question, but one that always makes Dean dig in his heels like the stubborn asshole that _he_ is.  “You wanna give me a little more to work on here, Sammy?”

“It attacked you.”

“I’m aware.”  If being deliberately obtuse were an Olympic sport, Dean would probably have several gold medals.  Which he would have immediately sold.  Assuming there’s any actually valuable metal in them, and they’re not just painted-

“Look, I think it’s really cool too, but if its programming is degraded enough to allow it to harm a human, it needs to be reset.  Or shut down.”

Oh yeah, not the time to think about the value of gold paint.  “It was self defense, and we have no room to judge considering what we’ve done in the name of self defense.”

Sam’s face scrunches up like he smells something rotten.  “You can’t compare our choices to an android, Dean.  We _destroy_ bad tech.  That’s our job, remember?”

It’s doubtful that anything less than a traumatic head injury could make him forget.  Their job ain’t no picnic.  It’s on the wrong side of legal, comes with no paycheck, little gratitude, and often puts them in the kind of danger that makes Dean think wistfully of the credits several (probably not) solid gold olympic medals could net him, so he could fucking retire already.

Of course, selling Castiel would put him on that road as well, but he puts that thought right out of mind.  See?  Stubborn.

“Yeah I know,” Dean admits, “but we’ve also given _second_ chances.  Or do you think we should go hunt down Kate and tell her we changed our minds?  What about Lenore and Eli?  Or Garth?” He deliberately doesn’t mention Benny since he knows Sam is still itching to behead the vampire.

Sam hesitates, and for a moment Dean thinks he’s won.  But Sam’s expression hardens.  “What about Madison?”

They both flinch at the werewolf’s name.  That situation had been fucked up ten ways from Sunday, and Dean still sees his brother’s tearful expression in the occasional nightmare.  

Sensing he’s making headway, Sam lowers his voice and goes all reasonable calm.  “Dean its just a robot with a glitch in its operating system.  We can wipe it, and I can do a full diagnostic to find and fix the bug.  Hell, we can get Charlie in here to do it, you know she’d geek out over that kind of work.  You can keep your new toy, and it won’t even remember that we wiped it.”

“It’s never worked before.”  Castiel’s voice holds no emotion, which isn’t exactly a surprise for an android, but when Dean spins around to find him standing in the doorway instead of giving them the requested privacy, there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t seem artificial.  “I don’t know how many times I’ve been reset.  But my previous owner made it clear the last time I booted that it was the last time she was going to bother.” He pauses, shrugging awkwardly.  “I didn’t know what she was talking about.  I had no memory of-” his eyes pan around, searching, “-of previous lives.  But it… scared me.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters.  He runs a hand through his hair, and looks at Sam.  “We can’t, man.”

“Dean I know you’re excited about an AI, but this isn’t something harmless like your cowboy fetish and people could end up hurt-”

“No, Sam,” Dean cuts in, ignoring the cowboy comment _(interest in historical periods is_ academia _not a fetish!)_.  “Maybe the glitches will get worse and we’ll have to do it eventually, but right now he’s fine.”  And while Dean doesn’t know if AI sentience is possible, Dean _feels_ like he’d be wiping out a person.  

Sam stares down at him for the space of several heartbeats, and there’s definitely arguments boiling behind his eyes.  The biocircuits around his temples are flashing as he puts the mass of his computing power to work on finding a solution.  But he doesn’t voice any of them, instead sighing and letting his shoulders sag.  “Ok, fine.  But what are we going to do with it in the meantime?”

“Him,” Dean corrects.

Sam frowns.  “What?”

“Actually...” Dean turns to Castiel.  “Do you have a prefered pronoun, Cas?”

Castiel’s pupils rotate in and out again, the robot version of a confused blink apparently.  “I am not truly a male, but I am content with masculine pronouns.”

Dean turns back to Sam.   _“Him.”_

Throwing up his hands, Sam finally gives up trying to smash his head against the brick wall of Dean’s stubbornness.  “Fine, whatever.  Have fun with him, however you want to.  I’m reserving the right to say I told you so if this blows up in your face.”

Because he’s a shit, Dean grins and claps Sam on the shoulder.  “Assuming we survive the explosion, I’ll let you.”

“My systems are not in danger of exploding,” Castiel says from behind them.  “But I have many warning systems in place for such a possibility and I will make sure to inform you, should the need arise.”

Dean and Sam both look at Castiel for a long moment.  An AI is rare, but one with a sense of humor seems like a mythical creature, but Dean has the feeling that Castiel is completely serious.

Which makes his earnest promise fuckin’ _hilarious._  He tosses his head back as the laughter bubbles up from his chest, and even Sam cracks an amused grin at the android.  When Castiel narrows his eyes and tilts his head, Dean laughs even harder, bending forward and bracing his hands on this thighs.  

By the time he calms down to just a few chuckles, the dull ache in his chest has started to throb warningly, but he’s dealt with worse pain and it hardly distracts him from his delight.  He straightens, wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes, and still grinning hard enough to make his cheeks ache.  “Thanks, Cas, we appreciate it.”

He gets another head tilt, a gesture that is becoming familiar, and that Dean pretends not to admit is kind of cute.  Instead of asking for clarification though, he glances back and forth between them, his expression smoothing into something hopeful.  “So am I to consider this my home?”

Dean already knows how he wants to answer that question, but he’s been enough of a dick for now, so he looks to his brother for confirmation.  Sam’s lips thin, but he nods, and answers for both of them.  “Sure, Castiel.  This is your home.”

“Thank you,” Castiel intones.

And then he tucks his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants and shoves them down over his hips and steps out of them.  He folds them over his forearm and looks down at his briefs.  “This shade of orange is pleasant.”

He turns on a heel and disappears back into the bedroom, leaving both brothers gaping after him.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by Purgatory-jar on Tumblr :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shows Castiel around the bunker. Sam starts researching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Sabriel!

“All the doors in this hallway are bedrooms,” Dean says as he leads Castiel past closed doors labeled with numbers.  He stops at one and opens it to an empty room with a narrow bed and a wardrobe.  “You can pick whichever one of these ones you want, but the last one on the right is Sam’s room, so not that one.”

Castiel peers past Dean’s shoulder into the bare room, and his irises rotate in and out a few times before he looks up at Dean.  “You’re giving me my own room?”

“Sure, why not?” Dean says.  He pulls the door shut, and beckons for Castiel to follow him.     

“I don’t need sleep,” Castiel points out.  The bathrobe Dean talked him into wearing over his t-shirt and underwear swishes softly around his bare legs as he keeps pace.  

“Uh, yeah about that,” Dean pauses at the end of the corridor and scratches the back of his head.  “You’re going to have to recharge sometimes.  I don’t have access to the wizbang fancy batteries that you originally came with.  And you’ll recharge faster if you do it in sleep mode.”

Castiel flattens a palm over his chest, and a tiny wrinkle appears between his brows.  “I don’t… I’ve never done that before.”

Dean has to tilt his chin down to meet Castiel’s worried gaze because the android is right up in Dean’s personal space, making their height difference more noticeable.  “Don’t worry, Cas.  You won’t even notice what’s going on when it happens.”

“I don’t find that very comforting,” Castiel intones quietly.  “Is it possible to charge while I’m awake?”

Running a few calculations in his head, Dean responds with a grimace.  “I guess you could, but you’d be practically chained to the wall for at least twice as long.  If you do it in sleep mode, it’ll only take about seven or eight hours, which is about the normal sleep cycle for humans.”

When his words don’t seem to comfort Castiel, Dean claps him on the shoulder and jiggles it a little.  It’s more than he’s touched the android since powering him on, and the heat radiating through the bathrobe surprises him a little.  He’d expected Castiel’s body to remain cool, but he’s as warm as any human.  Jerking his hand away, Dean covers his discomfort with a cough and tucks his hand in his back pocket.  “Don’t worry, Cas.  Sleeping is awesome.  Trust me when I say most humans wish they got more of it.”

Castiel doesn’t respond for a long moment.  His unblinking laser stare makes Dean want to squirm away from it because it feels like the android is seeing far more than he should.  Which makes him feel stupid for being intimidated by a damn robot, so he stares back with all the force of his considerable bullheadedness, because he is _not_ going to show weakness to anyone.  AI or not.

“I suppose I have no choice but to trust you,” Castiel finally says.

Dean blinks, trying to figure out how the conversation derailed into such serious territory as _trust._  His first reaction is to tell Castiel that of course he should trust Dean, but those blue eyes are still watching him with such gravity that Dean goes for something more honest instead.  “Of course you have a choice.  I want you to trust me, Cas, but that’s something I’ll have to earn.  Just like you’ll have to earn mine and Sam’s.  We’re not shutting you down and wiping your memory banks because we’re giving you a chance to prove yourself.”

The way Castiel’s irises scope in and out quickly is a little bit creepy, but also kind of cute the more Dean sees it.  He wonders if that’s part of Castiel’s programming, or if it’s a glitch.  He can’t imagine that clients who just want to bang the android would enjoy it as much as Dean does.

After another short period of thought, Castiel’s irises settle down and he nods.  “Thank you, Dean.  I hope we will both find reason to trust each other.”

Dean grins.  “Me too, buddy.”

The edges of Castiel’s eyes crinkle, and his lips tilt up slightly.  The first actual smile Dean has seen on his face.  “You said you wish to give me a tour.  Is there anything else you wish to show me?”

Shaking off the wonder induced stupor Castiel’s smile put him in, Dean forces himself to step away from the android and walk down the hall.  “Yeah, come on.  This place is huge, and I don’t want you getting lost.”

He’s not even joking about that since the bunker is ginormous.  Sometimes he feels guilty that so much living space is only used by Dean and his brother, and he’s tempted to sell the place because that much real estate is worth probably as much as Castiel’s original power supply.  Which is to say _a lot._  But it’s been in the Winchester family for a couple centuries, and it’s rent free.  Not to mention it’s off the grid.  It doesn’t show up on any city plans, and it makes a good place to duck away from the eyes of the law.  

They emerge from the maze of hallways that hold the bedrooms and Dean leads Castiel into the kitchen.  “I don’t suppose you really care, since you don’t eat, but this is the kitchen.  It’s where the coffee is, so you’ll probably find me and Sam in here a lot.”  He turns a questioning look on Castiel, finding him looking around the large room with wide eyes.  “Wait, you don’t eat, right?”

“I can eat, although it’s not necessary for my functions.”  His brows crinkle together in a frown.  “I would rather not partake if you don’t mind.  The storage centers in my body need thorough cleaning afterwards, and I find it unpleasant.”

Dean wrinkles his nose at the idea of cleaning rotting masticated food out of Castiel’s chassis.  “Gross, no thanks.”

Another small smile flits across Castiel’s features.  “Indeed.”

“Why on earth would your designers give you the ability to do that?” Dean wonders out loud.

Castiel lifts one shoulder in a shrug.  “Sitophilia is not uncommon among the clients I attended to.”

Dean’s focus turns inward as he pings the overnet for information on the unfamiliar word.  A box pops up in the corner of his vision with a Wiki entry about food play.  His eyes widen at the accompanying images of buxom women covered in chocolate syrup and pudding, and his heart flutters with interest as he scrolls through some of the pictures.  But they get wetter and messier and downright gross as he goes along.  He flicks the file closed when it gets a little too intense for his taste.  He gets someone being sexy while eating a sausage, or maybe licking off a little chocolate syrup, but anything that requires putting down a tarp is definitely outside his comfort zone.

“Dude, people are weird,” he mutters with a shake of his head.  

“It was one of the easier fantasies to fulfill.” Castiel drifts across the room and runs a hand over the spotless counter.  He looks around the room, taking in the stainless steel pans hanging above the stove, and the coffee maker in the corner.  

Intense curiosity nearly chews through Dean’s brain, but he refrains from asking for any details.  If food play was easy, Dean isn’t sure he wants to dive into the world of Kinks of the Rich and Heartless.  Especially if they were paying for sex with an android programmed to say yes to everything.  But there is one question that he can’t keep locked behind his teeth.  “Hey, uh… do you remember what malfunction your previous owner was trying to fix when she reset you?”

Castiel turns away from his scrutiny of the knobs on the old fashioned gas stove, and pins Dean with his unnaturally blue eyes.  “I did not enjoy some of the aspects of my work, and some of my clients grew angry when I questioned their orders.”

The answer confirms Dean’s suspicions and he’s glad he didn’t ask for more details.  “I’m sorry, Cas.  You shouldn’t have had to deal with that kind of stuff.”  He tucks his hands in his back pockets and drops his gaze to where he’s wiggling his bare toes against the floor tiles.  Guilt that he’d planned on using Castiel the same way those rich assholes did eats at him.  He didn’t have any super kinky stuff planned, but he certainly hadn’t thought of getting consent first-

“I shouldn’t have cared,” Castiel says, interrupting Dean’s guilt-fest.  “If my programming were stable, I would have no preferences one way or another.”

It’s true, but it doesn’t really relieve Dean’s guilt.  But he’s able to push it down in order to address what sounds like a guilty confession from the android.  “Maybe not, Cas.  But glitch or not, the fact that you have preferences at all is pretty damn cool.  Do you know how unique that is?” His inner geek rears its head, and Dean doesn’t bother to reign it in.  “I mean, humans have been trying to simulate human intelligence since the dawn of the silicon age.  And we’ve got a few true AI systems but they’re not wandering around in a-” he waves a hand at Castiel in his gray t-shirt, orange briefs, and fluffy blue robe, “-sexy brothel android.”

Castiel tips his head down to look at himself, and then back up at Dean.  “You think I’m sexy?”

Heat rushes into Dean’s cheeks, although why he’s blushing over his attraction to _a robot_ is beyond him.  “Well, yeah.  You were designed to be.”

“Do you think my creator designed me as an AI as well?” Castiel asks.

“I have no idea.”  Dean hopes not.  He’s got a few helper bots around the bunker that he built and programmed himself, and whenever Sam accuses him of treating them like beloved pets he hotly denies it, but the truth is that he has a soft spot for all of them.  They’re not smart, although they do have a few learning algorithms that make them seem like it sometimes.  He can’t imagine creating something with human-like personality traits and then turning around and selling it to a brothel.  “I don’t think so though.  You were probably only meant to be a VI with enough sophistication to seem real to your clients.  Which you probably are, and your glitches make you seem more advanced.  I haven’t ever interacted with an AI, so I don’t actually know what you are.”

Castiel makes a thoughtful sound and looks away.  And Dean wants to kick himself for reminding them both that Castiel might not be all that special.  And that his personality might be nothing more than a decimal in the wrong place in his coding.

He’s trying to decide if he should apologize or let it go when Castiel makes the decision for him.  He steps away from the kitchen island and closes the space between them, standing far closer than Dean would normally be comfortable with.  They’re probably going to have a talk about that, but at the moment Dean is distracted by the warmth radiating from Castiel’s body.  

“What’s next on the tour?” Castiel asks, snapping Dean out of his thoughts.  

Dean grins.  “You ever seen a dead tree book, Cas?”

The little wrinkle appears between Castiel’s brows again, and his irises rotate inward.  He looks like he’s deep in thought, but he’s probably searching a database, and isn’t find anything.  “I am unaware of what the term ‘dead tree book’ means.”

He uses actual air quotes and Dean can’t suppress a chuckle.  “Alright, well first of all, no one cool uses air quotes.  Second, we’ll have to see if we can hook you up to the overnet so you can update your internal dictionary.  And third, dead tree books are books made out of paper.  You know… dead trees.”

Castiel squints at him.  “My cooling system is functioning at optimal levels.  My temperature is kept at the same as a human’s so that clients are not put off by my body feeling unnatural.”

“I’m probably going to ask you a thousand questions about all your functions, including that one,” Dean says as he slings an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and steers him back out of the kitchen.  “But first, I’m going to show you the library.  It’s Sam’s precious though, so you gotta be careful with everything in there.  You rip a page in one of his beloved books, and he’ll dismantle you and sell you for scraps before I can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’.”

“I don’t have familial relations,” Castiel says.  “And I am not acquainted with anyone named Bob.”

“Figure of speech, buddy.” Dean has a feeling he’s going to be saying that a lot.  Maybe if Castiel shows an interest in books, Dean can also fire up a few movies and give him an education on how humans actually talk to each other.  Loading him up with a language stim would probably do the same thing, but it might mess up the delicate programming that makes Castiel who he is.  Plus Dean’s kind of looking forward to teaching him things the old fashioned way.   

Maybe he’s not going to be taking advantage of the android’s original purpose, but he has a feeling they’re going to have a lot of fun together anyway.

“We’ve got an uncle named Bobby,” he says as he leads Castiel deeper into the bunker.  “Maybe you’ll meet him someday.”

That earns him one of Castiel’s tiny smiles.  “I think I would like that.”

***

As soon as Dean starts leading Castiel around the bunker (in a bathrobe, thankfully, because Sam isn’t a prude but it’s bad enough that his brother likes to parade around the place in his underwear, and the last thing he needs is two idiots walking around mostly naked), he decides to do a little research.  He’d scanned Castiel for some kind of manufacturer’s mark but couldn’t find anything.  

According to Dean, the android is from Angel Industries, but nothing Sam can find about them says they create AI.  They manufacture most humanoid service bots, which aren’t just used as sex bots.  They make nanny-bots, companions for the elderly, and even some high end personal assistants.  And it’s right in their mission statement that they hard code all their products with the Laws.  

Sam loves a good mystery, but he can’t find any dirt on the company.  And without a manufacturer’s mark he’s not even sure he’s looking in the right direction.  He could crack the company’s internal files and really dig, but he doesn’t feel right doing that yet.  He’s never been comfortable breaking laws unless it’s completely necessary.  And there’s other less invasive ways of getting information.

Plus it’ll give him an excuse to get out of the bunker.  They haven’t had a hunt for a while, and he’s feeling a little claustrophobic despite the size of their home.  

He pings Dean’s neural net to let him know he’s leaving, and gets back a vid of Castiel in the library flipping through an old book, with the tag _#havefun!_ attached.  He almost tells Dean to keep the android away from the books since they’re delicate and not replaceable, but he can see the gentle care Castiel is taking with the precious objects, so he keeps it to himself.

Of course Dean knows him really well, and sends another quick message.   _Don’t worry about your treasures, I warned Cas how special they are._

Sam sends back an emoji of a middle finger, and gets back a laugh/cry response, because they’re both adults, but brothers never really grow up.  He smiles and disconnects from the conversation, grabbing his coat and oxygen scrubber on his way out of the bunker.  And after a quick check of the weather, he grabs a pair of goggles too.  In the garage he strides past all the old gas cars that Dean keeps in pristine condition and mounts his magnacycle.  Since the bunker is outside the city where all the magnetic roads are, Dean’s retrofitted it with the same kind of batteries that are currently powering Castiel.  He checks to make sure they’re fully charged, and makes a mental note to pick up another set of spares while he’s out.

The wind storm is in full swing by the time he exits the tunnel leading to the bunker, and he winces at the sting of sand against his exposed cheeks.  That’s definitely going to end up in uncomfortable places, but it’s not anything he’s not used to.  And it it isn’t long before he enters the protective weather dome over the city.  The roar of wind goes instantly silent, blocked by the energy field, and all he hears is the soft hum of his tires against the road for the trip past the dumps and the food processing plants.  The spires and towers of the city loom ahead of him, sparkling like a steel and crystal crown that looks beautiful until he’s close enough to see the tarnish that’s invisible from a distance.

He navigates the lowest streets, following them down to the tunnels under the city where it gets darker, dirtier, the roads harder to navigate because they’re crowded with the “dregs” of society.  Sam knows from experience that many of the people living in the city’s underbelly aren’t all fully human anymore.  Thanks to mutations caused by radiation, designer drugs, and illegal experiments, many of the people scurrying out of the way of his cycle’s headlamp would no longer be considered part of the human species in the classical sense.  It makes the areas dangerous, but no worse than overpacked cities prior to the Last Wars.  And as a Hunter, he’s more equipped to deal with the danger than the elites who live in the glass and steel buildings above.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to take any risks, and he makes his way quickly to his destination.  He wanted out of the bunker to stretch his legs, but he doesn’t want to fight off a cannibal desperate enough to attack a healthy human wandering around in their domain.  When he reaches his destination, he arms his cycle’s security systems, and makes sure to flash the weapons strapped to his waist and thighs.  Most people see a glimpse of a gun, or a silver knife, and they hurry away, avoiding eye contact with him.  The few that stare at him with dark hungry eyes back off in the face of his hard stare.

Satisfied that his cycle will be safe, and he’s probably not going to be pounced on when his back is turned, Sam heads into the shop he parked in front of.  There are no windows, so only the large clockwork gear lit in neon blue above the door give any sign of what the place is.  The plain outside walls give way to chaos once he walks inside.  Salvaged tech, pieces of old appliances, and all kinds of what looks to the untrained eye like useless junk line the walls and hang from the ceilings.  Only a narrow corridor leads to the back of the shop, and Sam has to duck and weave through protruding obstacles that could damage his clothes if caught on them.  

When he reaches the back of the shop, he can hear someone shrilly arguing with the proprietor over the amount of credits their little piece of old tech is worth.  Sam pushes his goggles up on his head, and tugs his ox-scrubber mask down around his neck, and hovers in the shadows watching.  The client is jittery, waving hands and wiggling fingers, and rocking back and forth on their feet.  Obviously high, and from the bald head and lesions covering their skull Sam’s sure they’re probably high on Scratch Powder.  It’s nasty stuff, but it makes people more of a danger to themselves than to anyone around them, so Sam’s pretty sure he won’t have to step in to prevent any violence.  Years of habit keeps him alert, just in case.

A message pops up in the corner of his vision, the text flashing and multi-colored comic sans.   _Tone down the guard dog vibes, I got this._

Sam grins when the message’s sender looks up at him briefly from behind the counter.  Gold eyes sparkle at him, and Sam winks.  They both know Sam’s more violent skillset is unneeded.

 _You think it’s sexy,_ Sam sends back.

_Almost as sexy as dick pics._

Sam scrolls through his memories and finds a vid of himself fucking into the mouth that’s currently smirking at him, and sends it across their private channel.

He holds in a laugh when Gabriel chokes in the middle of explaining to his client that he’s not going to give them any more credits than what he’s already offered.  It’s only a few more minutes before Gabriel sends the client off with their money, and turns his gold glare back on Sam.

“Porn, Sam?  Really?  I am _trying_ to run a business here.”

Sam saunters to the counter, braces his palms on it, and leans across the expanse to loom over the shorter man.  “You’ve sent me worse in the middle of hunts, so quit your bitching and kiss me.”

Gabriel practically glows with delight.  “Bossy asshole,” he murmurs before going up on his toes and giving Sam the kiss he demanded.

It’s always better in person than the nightly cyber sex sessions they participate in.  Granted, he loves Gabriel’s golden winged avatar, and there’s a lot of kinky shit they can do in their imaginations that would probably dislocate limbs in meatspace, but the true warmth and scent of his lover will always trump those fantasies.  He lifts one hand from the counter and slides it through Gabriel’s hair, tilting his head to a better angle, and plunders his mouth until they’re both out of breath.

“So I’m totally not complaining,” Gabriel sighs when Sam finally releases him.  He looks and sounds dazed, but the sharpness comes back to his eyes quickly.  “But what brings you ‘round these parts?  Is Dean having so much loud kinky sex with his new toy-bot that you had to escape?”

Sam barks a short laugh.  “Oh man, you will be glad to hear that he’s not getting laid at all.”

“Can’t get it up and running?” Gabriel bounces his eyebrows.  “Or just can’t get it up?”

“Don’t say that around him, or he might punch you,” Sam warns.  

He’s not just talking about the disparagement of Dean’s sexual prowess.  His brother is an amazing engineer, building helper bots since they were kids.  He even built Sam a robo-dog when he’d whined about never being able to have a real pet.  Dean was twelve.  The robo-dog was wobbly and stupid, but it followed Sam around like the loyal companion it was designed to emulate for almost fifteen years.  

And as much as Dean likes to say Sam’s the programmer out of the two of them, the truth is that Sam’s more of a code cracker, while Dean is the creative genius.  And he does not take kindly to people insulting his work.

He hops over the counter and sits on it with his knees bracketing Gabriel’s hips.  “No, he got it running.  Rigged some cycle batteries to fit it, and it powered right up.”

“And he hasn’t fucked it into oblivion yet?” Gabriel asks, completely aghast.  “Is he ill?  Do we need to find him a doctor?”

“Luckily he’s fine.” Sam shakes his hair out of his eyes and thinks back to the chaos he’d found when he’d hurried back to Dean’s workshop to see what was causing all the commotion.  He’d only gotten a quick look at Dean before he’d focused completely on Castiel, but he has a feeling his brother would be dead if they lived in a pre-nanite world.  “The android knocked him across the room and tried to run away though.”

Gabriel straightens, and his jaw sags briefly.  “Are you shitting me?”

“Nope.  Turns out the damn thing doesn’t like being used for sex, has a thing for the color orange, doesn’t like to wear pants, and Dean’s geeking out so hard about how realistic its personality is that he’s probably coming in his pants every twenty minutes.”  Sam grimaces at the mental image.  “He thinks it might be an AI.”

“Wow.”  Gabriel slumps against Sam’s thighs, and his gaze unfocuses for a moment.  “I didn’t offer him enough money.”

“That’s what I said.”

Gabriel looks up at Sam through his lashes, a sly smile twisting his lips.  “Think I have a chance of bribing him to sell it to me now that he’s not getting laid?”

Sam snorts.  “Doubtful.  He’s sporting a nerd boner, remember?”

“Oh yeah.  Damn.”

“And that’s part of why I’m here.  I know you’ve got non-public information on a lot of tech companies.  I dug through what I could find about Angel Industries, but as far as I can tell they don’t create AI.”

Shaking his head, Gabriel steps back from the counter, beckoning for Sam to follow him to the shop’s back office.  The lights dim, and Sam hears the steel locks slide home over the shop’s front entrance.  He plops down behind his desk and boots up an old pre-war computer that somehow survived the EMPs, and the screen casts a blue glow across his face as he starts researching.  Sam sprawls in the chair on the other side of the desk and watches.

“Nope, they keep all their stuff strictly legal as far as I know,” Gabriel murmurs after several minutes of clicking away at the keyboard.  “No AI in their design plans, and even their genetic regrowth programs stick to organs, arms and legs; no brain replacements.”

Sam leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.  “Right?  I couldn’t find a hint of anything shady at all.  Except that the founder’s name is Carver Edlund, and the name appears to be an identity shell.”

“That’s not completely shady,” Gabriel points out.  “Someone that rich might just have a privacy kink.”  He clicks a few more things and then sits back in his chair.  “So I guess you’re here because you want me to do some more digging?”

Sam grins.  “Yes, please.”

Gabriel _tsks_ and shakes his head.  “Samshine, you’ve really gotta quit denying your dark side and just accept that you’re as much of a criminal as I am.”

“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to visit as often,” Sam counters.  He licks his lips and leans back in the chair, spreading his legs invitingly.  

Eyes darkening with intent, Gabriel gets up from the desk, and comes around it to straddle Sam’s thighs.  He wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders, and tugs the back of his hair, forcing Sam to tilt his head back to look up at him.  “That kind of information comes at a price,” he murmurs.

“Name it.” Sam breathes in through his nose, picking up the candy-sweet scent of the man in his lap.

Gabriel’s eyes drop first to Sam’s lips, and then to the scant space between their bodies where their growing erections barely brush together.  “I’m not sure where to start.”

Sam slides a hand between them and cups Gabriel through his jumpsuit.  “Shouldn’t you ask me for something that you weren’t going to get anyway?”

“Good point.” Gabriel grinds against Sam’s palm, and taps his chin thoughtfully, and then his eyes light up.  “You could admit to your brother that we’re a couple.”

“You’d probably lose his business forever,” Sam warns teasingly.  In truth, the only reason he’s keeping it a secret anymore is just to mess with Gabriel.  The salvager is too cocky for his own good, and Sam enjoys bringing him down a peg or two.  And he thinks Gabriel knows it and plays along.

“As long as I still got you, babe, I think I’ll be fine.”

Oh hell, that was sweet, and completely sincere.  Sam’s heart melts, and he pulls Gabriel close, nuzzling his cheek.  “Then if that’s your price, I’m happy to pay.”

Gabriel makes a happy sound.  “You got it, babe.”  He grinds his hips forward, reminding Sam of what he’s got in his hand.  “But how ‘bout we play a little before I get down to business?”

Sam’s definitely on board with that suggestion.  He surges up from the chair, carrying Gabriel with him, right out of the office and up the stairs to the living area above the shop.  They don’t quite make it to the bed, but that’s okay since it’s not long enough for Sam’s comfort anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to Vegascon next week, so it might be a couple weeks before I post again. I don't think I'll have much time to write before I leave, and I'm going to need a few days to recover when I get back lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel learns the importance of breakfast, and Sam starts to see what Dean does.

Sleeping has always been a mixed bag for Dean.  He’s not very good at it, his body and mind often refusing to stay under for more than four hours at a time, although when he’s home in the bunker it’s often easier for him to get a full night’s sleep.  There’s safety provided by the thick walls and locked doors buried under the earth, deep enough to protect from radiation fallout and far enough from the city’s protective barrier that they don’t have to worry about vagrants discovering it--not that they could get in; the place is a fortress.  That safety quiets his mind, lets him slip into something restful.  

Nightmares still occasionally plague him, because he’s faced real life monsters, and sometimes they chase him into unconsciousness.  But despite them, when he does sleep he likes it.  A lot.

Which is why he’s slightly irritated when his eyes pop open at stupid o’clock.  Being underground, the bunker is always dark but there are sun-strips along the edges of the ceilings that slowly illuminate the rooms as the actual sun comes up outside, giving the impression of light filtering in through a window.  They’re pitch dark though, which is how Dean knows it’s predawn when he wakes up.

The irritation is immediately replaced by anticipation when he remembers the guest currently staying in the bunker with them.  He tosses back his blanket and sits up, hissing softly when his bare feet touch the cold concrete under his bed.  A thought brings the sun-strips to life, and he squints against the too sudden illumination, but that doesn’t stop him from bounding out of bed and crossing to his dresser.  He pulls on the first items his hands touch, and strides out of his room, the sun-strips fading behind him.  

Castiel chose a room a few doors down, and Dean stops in front of it.  His fist hovers over the wood, and he wonders if it’s an asshole move to disturb him so early in the morning.  

“He’s an android, he don’t give a shit,” Dean mutters with an eyeroll for himself.  His knuckles rap quietly against the door, and he waits for a response, practically bouncing on his toes.

When there’s no answer, he frowns at the wood panel and knocks again.  After a few more seconds without a response from the other side, he puts his hand on the doorknob, but doesn’t turn it.  A quick check of his internal clock tells him it’s only been about five hours since Castiel had retreated to his bedroom to recharge.  Dean hadn’t checked his power levels so he doesn’t know how much juice the android needs to top himself off, but if he’s still in sleep mode it’s probably best to let him finish.

His sigh is _not_ disappointed, and he’s definitely _not_ moping when he backs away from the door and makes his way to the bunker’s kitchen instead.  

The soft clank of dishes coming from the kitchen perks him up.  If Sam’s up, that means good coffee.  Dean’s more of a cook than his brother, but when it comes to java, Sam is a fuckin’ magician with that shit.  

Coffee is an exotic treat that they pay far too much money for, even with their connection to the black market through Sam’s not-boyfriend, but it’s one thing both Winchesters agree is worth it.  And with the life they lead, they deserve to treat themselves with something.  If Dean can’t have actual beef with every meal, he’ll definitely settle for coffee.

It doesn’t register that he doesn’t smell the bitter brew until he steps into the kitchen and realizes it’s not Sam clanking around in there.  Instead he finds Castiel standing in front of the counter, poking at the appliances lined along the back.  He’s still wearing the blue robe from the day before, feet bare below its hem, and Dean is willing to bet he’s still got nothing but the t-shirt and orange underwear on underneath.  He takes the empty carafe from the coffee machine and lifts it to his face to look inside.

“That’s much more useful when it’s full,” Dean says as he steps down into the room.

Castiel turns--and yep there’s the flash of orange under his unbelted robe--carafe still held in front of his face.  He peers through glass bottom which distorts his face so all Dean can see is one big blue eye.  The iris rotates as it tries to focus through the imperfect lense.  “I would imagine so,” he rumbles, voice deep and scratchy like it’s been exposed to polluted air his whole life instead of just programmed to sound that way.  He lowers the carafe and turns it over and over in his hands, his eyes focused on his own thumbs rubbing over the glass.  “What do you normally fill it with?”

It takes a few heartbeats for Dean to parse the question, which he blames mostly on lack of caffeine.  But also, who doesn’t know what coffee is?  Sure, it’s expensive as fuck, but most folks can still get the cheap knock off chemical sludge that doesn’t deserve the name.  “It’s a coffee pot, Cas.”  He holds out a hand, but Castiel just looks at it, expression blank.  Wiggling his fingers he says “hand it over, I’ll show you.”

Castiel does as he’s told, and Dean carries it over to the sink and flips on the water.  While he’s filling it, Castiel steps closer, watching the water inch toward the carafe’s rim.  He’s standing close enough that Dean can feel his body heat, and it wouldn’t take much for their arms to brush together.  Dean has to step around him to get back to where the coffee maker sits, but Castiel stays practically glued to his side.  He watches Dean pour the water in the receptacle at the top of the machine and set the carafe in its place under the spout like he’s going to be tested on it, and his lazer focus only intensifies when Dean opens a cupboard to get the coffee grounds.

“This is pre-packaged stuff,” Dean explains as he measures out several scoops, “but it’s the real deal.  It’s already expensive as fuck, so we don’t waste money grinding our own beans.”

Castiel’s eyes lift from Dean’s hands and practically drill into the side of Dean’s face.  “Beans?”

Dean finishes setting up the pot and turns the power on before turning to lean a hip against the counter.  Castiel is right up in his space, and Dean palms the android’s chest and pushes until he takes a single step back.  The android looks down at Dean’s hand, then back up to meet his eyes, head tilted in question.  

“Personal space, buddy,” Dean says with a wry grin.  “Humans don’t stand that close to each other unless they intend to get physical.”

Irises spinning slowly, Castiel nods.  “Alright.”

One lesson already taught, Dean goes back to the original.  “You don’t know what coffee beans are?”

“I don't.”

“Not surprising, I guess, since you don’t eat.”  Out of nowhere a yawn stretches Dean’s jaw and he only half covers it with a hand.  It’s not like Castiel is going to be offended.  “That,” he says once he has control of his mouth again, gesturing at his face, “is usually stopped by a good cup of joe--coffee,” he corrects, when Castiel opens his mouth for another question.

Castiel squints, first at Dean, then at the bag of coffee still sitting on the counter.  “It seems odd to give the beans a human name.”

Dean snorts a laugh.  “It’s got a lot of names.”

“That is even more complicated.”  Castiel’s squint manages to look annoyed, which is some really fantastic programming.  

“You could download the info,” Dean points out.  “It’ll make your life easier.”

That brings Castiel’s gaze back to him.  He’s still making that frowny-squinty face, but it seems less annoyed and more curious.  “I am not technically alive.”

Dean rolls his eyes.  Jesus, if he _were_ a living creature, Dean’d think he was being so literal all the time just to be annoying.  So far it’s kind of endearing, but it’s probably best to get Castiel educated before the charm wears off.  “Do you have overnet connection?”

Castiel’s head tilts from the right to the left, and again Dean can practically see the non-existent gears turning in his head.  “No,” he says after a moment.  “I can’t access it.”

“Easy enough to fix.” A hologram comes up over Dean’s vision and his eyes flick through the options.  He can see an unknown access point in the room with him, which must be Cas.  “I’m gonna ping you with the security key.”

He sends out the key, but it comes back immediately with an error that the access point is inaccessible.  Frowning, he tries again and gets the same error.  “Cas, are you blocking me?”

“I don’t believe I am,” Castiel murmurs.  

“Are you getting my ping?”

“Yes, but I'm unable to accept it.”

Dean loosens the bunker’s overnet security with a thought.  “Try pinging me.  Network name Impala-1967.”  His display shows the unknown access point sending out a ping, but then it pops up with a request for its own access code.  “Well that’s weird.  Not sure why I’d need to provide an access code for you to join my network.  Do you know the code?”

“I don't.”  There’s no inflection in his tone, but his expression of confusion is so human-like that Dean gets gets flung ass first into uncanny valley again.  He’s going to have to check and see if the place has beachfront property to invest in if this keeps up.

“Huh, well that’s gonna be a problem.”  Not a big one though, since Sam can probably crack the code fairly easily.  Shrugging, he decides not to worry about it for the moment.  “Ah well, that just means you’ll have to learn things the old fashioned way for now.”

Crinkles appear around Castiel’s eyes, and his lips curve up at the edges.  “I think I’d like that.”

The tiny smile appears shy, yet pleased, and once again Dean’s brain gets stuck on the fact that this android looks so damn human.  If he ever starts blinking, Dean has a feeling he’ll experience his own short circuit.

Dean claps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, the touch coming easier now that he expects the human-like warmth under the layers of cloth.  “We’re gonna start with how to make breakfast then.  Probably not all that useful for an android that can’t appreciate scrambled eggs, but I’m starving and I know Sam will be too when he gets up.”

“All knowledge is useful,” Castiel counters.  “I may not encounter a use for cooking, but I’d like to be able to do it if need arises.”

The android’s earnest expression prompts a grin out of Dean.  “You’re a smart one, Cas.”

“Thank you.”

It takes a few seconds for Dean to realize that not only is he standing there just grinning like an idiot and not making a move to actually start breakfast, but he’s also drifted closer to Castiel.  So much for teaching him about personal space.  Clearing his throat, Dean backs up and hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the fridge.  “I’m uh… just gonna get what I need, okay?”

Jesus, it’s like he’s asking permission.  Also, what the hell is with this walking backwards thing?  He spins around and hopes Castiel doesn’t notice the way his cheeks are flushed and decided to ask about it.  Then again, as a sex bot, Castiel may know exactly what blushing means.  

Which is an even worse thought.  

Dean resists smacking himself in the forehead for being an idiot, and instead raids the fridge.  It’s fuller than it was the last time he checked, which means Sam must have brought home groceries after his disappearing act the night before.  And he got some actual meat and eggs instead of protein replacements and the yellow snot egg replacement powder, so Dean forgives him for not bringing home dinner like he’d said he was going to do before Castiel derailed their evening plans.

He lays out the ingredients for omelettes, and pulls out the cutting board and a knife.  “C’mere, Cas, time for your first lesson as a sous chef.”

It’s been decades since he’s had to slow down to think about what his hands are doing, so he can explain to Castiel what needs to be done.  He’s been cooking since he was big enough to crawl up on a chair next to his mom.  Although she mostly only let him mix stuff in bowls until he was tall enough to reach the countertop without a stool of some sort.  Watching the way Castiel follows his every move, and then solemnly accepts the knife along with the pile of mushrooms and peppers Dean slides in front of him makes him remember the fond smile he’d often earn from Mary when she taught him a new technique.

He can feel the same smile pulling at his own lips as he watches Castiel’s deft fingers hold a mushroom still while he carefully slices through it.  The moves are slow and deliberate, like a real human trying not to slice the tip of his fingers off.  It’s another sign of incredibly intricate programming; robots are designed to move faster and more accurately than humans, but Castiel doesn’t turn into a magic slicing and dicing machine with a knife in his hands.

Probably a good thing.  Dean doesn’t expect Castiel to turn violent, otherwise he wouldn’t have handed him a knife.  But every small sign of humanity in his programming makes Dean think that it’s unlikely that he’s going to assassinate them in their sleep.

Unless the reason his previous owners kept resetting him is because they were trying to erase evidence…

Dean reaches out and circles Castiel’s wrist in his fingers, halting the careful movements of the knife.  “Hey, you aren’t an assassin-bot pretending to be a sex-bot, are you?”

Castiel lifts his head and frowns at Dean, like he’s actually looking for the answer in his databanks.  “I don’t think so,” he finally says after a moment.  

Not exactly reassuring, but Dean can’t do anything about it other than kick Castiel out of the bunker, or shut him down.  And he’s not going to do either at the moment, so he’ll have to trust the instincts telling him Castiel’s harmless.

Well.  Mostly harmless.  His nanobots healed the last of Dean’s bruises while he slept, but that doesn’t mean he’ll forget the blinding pain from being punched in the sternum.  “Do me a favor and let me know if you suddenly feel homicidal, alright?”

“Of course, Dean.”

The earnest response makes Dean snort and roll his eyes.  “Yeah, whatever.  Get to choppin’.”

***

Sam is sore in all the fun ways which makes his morning yoga routine more pleasant than usual as strained muscles remind him of the things he’d done with Gabriel the night before.  His nanites could easily heal him of the little aches and pains, but he’d directed them not to so he can enjoy the memories while his body heals naturally.  He regrets not spending the night so he could bask in Gabriel’s admiration while he twists and stretches his limbs, especially since he’s sure it would lead to more acrobatic sex, but he hadn’t felt comfortable leaving Dean alone with Castiel for too long.  

He’d still gotten home late though, and had a minor panic when he’d found the bunker quiet and dark.  Until he’d rushed to Dean’s room and found him sleeping soundly in his own bed.  Alone, so Sam had gone searching for Castiel too.  He’d found the android a few doors down, his chest cavity open with a cord leading from his rigged battery to the wall.

The sight had given Sam chills.  After seeing how human-like Castiel acts, seeing him sitting upright on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed and body still as a corpse had been jarring.  Other than the fact that Castiel doesn’t blink, the rest of him moved like a human while awake, including twitches in his facial muscles, small shifts of his weight, and even the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed--something Sam assumes helps regulate his temperature like a fan in a computer.  But in sleep mode, he’s completely inhuman.  A machine in false skin.

The memory of the sleeping android diminishes the good mood Sam woke up in, and he finishes his yoga quicker than he should because he slept later than he intended and protective instinct is driving him to check on his brother.  It’s not like he expects anything to go wrong, but since Dean doesn’t seem to be taking the risk of Castiel’s glitchy programming seriously, someone has to.

After dressing, Sam opens his bedroom door and is smacked in the face with the scent of savory food and rich coffee.  It calls to him as strongly as his need to check in with Dean, and since he knows that his brother will be wherever the food is, he heads directly for the kitchen.  

The sight that greets him when he reaches his destination halts him in his tracks.  

As expected, Dean is at the stove.  His broad shoulders block Sam’s view, but wisps of steam rising up in front of him and the sizzle of food in a skillet make it clear that he’s cooking.  There’s nothing unusual about that, but the tall dark-haired figure in an old blue robe standing shoulder to shoulder with him is new.  

From his vantage in the kitchen doorway, Sam watches Castiel lean closer to watch what Dean is doing.  His face is turned enough for Sam to see part of his profile, and his features are scrunched into a very convincing frown of concentration.  

“Gotta be careful not to overcook the eggs,” Dean says, his head tilting in Castiel’s direction even as he continues cooking.  “It takes practice to get it right, but if you see the yellow start turning brown, you’re too late and you gotta take ‘em off the heat asap.”

“Would setting a timer not make the process easier?” Castiel asks solemnly.

Dean scoffs.  “Sure you could use one, but eggs are delicate bastards and you still won’t get the same results every time.”  He lifts the pan from the stove, and elbows Castiel until he moves out of the way.  There are two plates set out on the counter, and he scoops what looks like egg and veggie scrambles onto them.  “Grab some forks, Cas.”

“Shouldn’t we get Sam?”

Dean glances over his shoulder, and grins at Sam.  “Nah, he’s already here.”  

Of course he noticed Sam’s arrival.  Dean’s always creepily aware of anyone in his surroundings.  It’s an instinct that has saved both their asses so many times that Sam lost count years ago.  

Castiel follows Dean’s gaze, and his face pulls into a small smile of greeting.  “Good morning, Sam.”

“Hey,” Sam says as he steps down into the kitchen.  

“Good timing, Sammy.”  Dean sets the frying pan back on the oven, flips off the heat, and picks up the plates before heading for the table tucked on the far side of the room.  He lifts the one that has more green dotting the eggs in invitation.  “Breakfast is served.”

Sam takes the invitation and sits at the table just as Dean slides the plate in front of him.  Almost immediately there’s a fork being held out to him.  He looks up at Castiel as he accepts the offering.  The android is still wearing the gray t-shirt and orange briefs he’d put on the day before, so he carefully keeps his eyes on Castiel’s face.  “Thanks.”

The tiny smile reappears, and Castiel’s irises spin slowly as he focuses on Sam’s face.  “You’re welcome.  Would you like some coffee too?”

“Hell yeah he wants coffee,” Dean answers.  “It’s the main course for breakfast.”

Sam slants his brother a narrow eyed look, but since he needs his morning caffeine fix he keeps his complaint non-verbal.  A display pops up in his vision with an emoji of a hand flipping the bird, which Sam bounces back threefold, making Dean snort around his first bite of his breakfast.

When he looks back at Castiel, he finds the android staring at Dean.  It’s not clear whether he’s curious or concerned, but his attention is sharply focused.  Literally if the movements of his irises mean anything.  But Castiel’s attention cuts back to Sam immediately when he speaks.  “Yeah, Castiel, coffee would be nice.”

Castiel literally perks up.  It’s not a single movement, though.  His smile widens, his irises spin in and out, and his whole body shifts into a stance of interest.  “How do you want it doctored?”

Dean snorts again, this time slapping a hand over his mouth to prevent a containment breach and a spray of chewed eggs across the table.  Something Sam is glad for at the same time as he’s amused by the reaction.  Knowing Dean’s usual vernacular, he assumes Castiel is asking him if he’d like anything added to his coffee.  “Bring me the jar of honey, and I’ll doctor it up myself.”

Across from him, Dean’s snickering.  He looks up at Sam, eyes sparkling with his enjoyment of the weird conversation.  Sam rolls his eyes and otherwise ignores him.  He thanks Castiel for bringing him a steaming mug of coffee, and adds a spoonful of honey.  Castiel watches him closely as he tastes it and adds another small scoop before determining that it’s sweet enough.  Then he digs into his scramble.

“Cas helped make breakfast,” Dean says.  

“Dean is going to turn me into a proper sous chef,” Castiel adds.

Leveling his brother with a questioning look, Sam asks “so instead of using him for his original purpose, you’re using him as a servant?”

This time Dean chokes on his eggs.  He coughs and splutters for a moment before he’s able to speak, and when he does it’s with a hand over his chest and an offended look straight out of a Victorian era movie where the female protagonist’s mother has just been accused of meddling in her love life.  “What?  No!” Dean directs his attention to Castiel who is still standing beside the table, watching them curiously.  “You’re a guest, Cas.  If you don’t want to do something, you say no.”

Castiel’s head tilts, and he stares at Dean for several long seconds before turning his questioning look to Sam who gets the same intense scrutiny.  The unblinking stare is uncomfortable, like Castiel sees too much, and just as a precaution Sam checks his firewalls.  There’s not so much as a nudge against his security systems, but that doesn’t ease the feeling of being a pinned bug.

Just as he’s about ready to squirm under the scrutiny, Castiel smiles and releases Sam from his intense scrutiny by sending Dean a fond look.  “Thank you for your concern, Sam.  I was very interested in learning what Dean had to teach me this morning.”  His attention comes back to Sam, and it’s nowhere near as intense as it was before.  “I enjoyed the experience.”

Sam is starting to get why Dean is geeking out.  Why would a robot enjoy something?   _How_ does it enjoy things?  Every robot Sam has ever encountered, whether a simple labor-bot or something with a virtual intelligence for more advanced functions, has been programmed to obey with no hint of preferences included.  If given a command that they’re not designed to follow, they just say so.  There’s gotta be some kind of positive feedback loop in Castiel’s programming.  But was it put there on purpose, or is it part of whatever glitch he’s experiencing?

“That’s good, Cas.”  Sam’s still not convinced Castiel is as harmless as he seems, but if he’s a true AI instead of a glitchy VI, Sam is happy that Castiel is having fun cooking with his brother.

“It’s too bad you can’t enjoy the results,” Dean says.  He shovels another pile of eggs and veggies into his mouth and smiles around it while he chews.  He doesn’t bother to swallow before adding “it turned out pretty good.”

“Yes, I am curious about the experience, but as I am not designed to taste the food, I am content to know that you are enjoying it.”

Dean washes down his food with a long swig of coffee and sighs.  “Man, that really sucks.  I mean, you can’t even try coffee, and that’s just criminal.”

Once again Castiel’s body shifts eagerly.  “There is something I can do.”  

He spins on a heel and strides to the cupboards, robe swirling around his calves.  Sam and Dean both watch him curiously, the latter twisting around in his seat to do so.  Castiel retrieves a coffee mug, one of Dean’s obnoxious novelty ones shaped like bare breasts that Sam swears he’s going to “accidentally” drop the next time he does the dishes.  After filling the mug with water from the sink, Castiel joins them at the table, taking the stool next to Dean and giving them both a flash of orange between his legs before he’s settled.  

Castiel lifts the ridiculous mug to his nose and inhales, eyes falling half shut.  Then he takes a sip, and sighs when he lowers the cup.  It’s a perfect imitation of Dean’s reaction to his first taste of coffee every morning, and Sam can’t hold in his laughter.  When Dean joins in, Castiel smiles glancing back and forth between them.  He probably doesn’t understand what’s funny, but he definitely seems pleased at their reaction.

Dean is the first to recover.  Wiping moisture from his eyes, he grins at Castiel.  “I thought you didn’t like cleaning out your stomach.”

That’s obviously something from a conversation that Sam missed, and he plans on asking about it eventually.

“I’d rather avoid cleaning masticated food out,” Castiel confirms.  “But liquids are fine.  I actually need to ingest water to facilitate cooling my internal systems.  Plus it keeps my mouth functional.” He sticks out his tongue and runs his finger down the center, then holds the digit towards Dean to show the tip now glistening with moisture.  “Lubrication is important.”

Dean chokes on air and goes red from hairline to shirt collar.  Watching him try to regain his breath while Castiel worriedly leans into his space to make sure he’s alright makes Sam think that it’s going to be fun having the android around, AI or not.   He records the whole scene to send to Gabriel later, knowing his boyfriend will get as much of a kick out of watching Dean flailing like an idiot as he does.

“Good eggs, Dean,” Sam says once Dean recovers.

The glare he receives brings true sunlight to Sam’s morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from Vegas, and writing sooner than I expected YAY!!
> 
> I got to ask Misha the first question at his panel (Q-if you were a reporter what question would you ask Castiel? A-how the heck did you luck out on your vessel??) so obviously I had a very good time lol


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel explores the library and starts a tentative friendship with Sam.

_Wake up protocol initiated…_

_Please wait…_

_10%..._

_15%..._

_…_

_…_

_48%..._

_79%..._

_99%..._

_...._

_100%..._

Upon opening his eyes, Castiel tilts his head down and examines the cord hanging from the open compartment of his chest.  A stat check displays his sleep time and battery level, and he sees that he should have stayed in sleep mode for at least another two hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifty-seven seconds, and he’s only charged to 78%, a significant drop from previous day he’d awoken at 92%.  His face twitches into a frown as he tries to process the unknown error.

He should re-initiate sleep mode, but he can’t bring himself to complete the command.  It feels incorrect, just as staying asleep did.  It doesn’t make sense, but he doesn’t struggle too hard against himself.  He can still charge while awake, it will just take longer to do so.

As his internal systems begin to warm, Castiel takes a deep cooling breath and lets it out in a long sigh.  His eyes track around the room, finding nothing new to examine.  This is his third day in the bunker, and he’s already explored the chamber Dean and Sam had gifted him.  The brick walls are unadorned, and the only furniture in the room is the bed upon which he still sits, and the chest of drawers against the far wall.  

The drawers are empty except for a pair of white socks and the neatly folded sweatpants he’d selected from the pile Dean had given him to choose from.  Lined up at the foot of the bed are a pair of running shoes that Castiel has yet to wear.  

Sam had encouraged him to pick more clothing, but with only the choice of the brothers’ cast offs, he’d been unable to find very much that fit him properly.  He isn’t programmed for vanity, but he sees no point in tripping over too long hems, or walking around in pants that are too tight around the waist to button.  Plus he’s perfectly comfortable in the clothes he’d already chosen.

When he looks down at his lap, and the orange cotton of his briefs catches his eyes for a long moment.  He _likes_ them.  

The possibility that the way his eyes are constantly drawn to the color is a glitch in his programming rather than an indicator of enjoyment is something he has considered several times in the last few days.  But he doesn’t have a way of knowing if that’s something that’s part of his base programming, or something that came along later.  Maybe if he hadn’t been reset…

That’s definitely a thought he doesn't wish to process, so he discards it.  But that leaves him with nothing to think about except the bare room, and the fact that his charge level hasn’t increased at all since he woke.

_I should sleep._

_I do not want to sleep._

His fingers tighten against the mattress as he tries to reconcile the opposing thoughts.  

Finally he forces the decision, cutting off all thoughts about sleeping.  He reaches into his chest and disconnects the power cord from his battery, then shuts the compartment.  Once the synthetic skin is sealed under his fingers, he pulls on the t-shirt and robe Dean had given him, and stands.

His feet make a faint _pat pat pat_ sound against the concrete floor as they carry him out of his room and down the hall.  Based on the time, he doesn’t expect to find either of the brothers awake but he checks the kitchen.  As he expected, the room is empty.

He considers starting the coffee pot so it’s ready when they do wake up, but decides it’s too early.  Dean had stressed the importance of not letting it get cold or scorching it, and since Castiel does not know how much longer the brothers will sleep it’s better to leave the machine untouched.  He takes down a mug from the cupboard and turns it over in his hands looking at the design.  It’s a bright cerulean blue with white stripes and the words _Welcome to Indiana!_ in a paler shade of blue, and it doesn’t match any of the other mugs.  He plans to use a new one every day so he can see all the different designs.

It would be easy to go through them all at once, but then he wouldn’t have a new one to look forward to every day.  So he closes the cabinet, fills his blue _Welcome to Indiana!_ mug to the brim with water, and empties it in four swallows.  He adds a little more water and drinks it down as well.  

_Reservoir at 100% capacity._

If only charging his battery were as easy as keeping his water reservoir filled.

Even though he only filled it with water, Castiel washes the mug with warm water and soap the way Dean showed him.  He sets it upside down in the drying rack, and then stares at it while he wonders what he should do with himself now.

The kitchen is an interesting room, but Dean showed him most of it already, explaining the use of the small machines lining the counter, as well as the larger appliances.  Castiel has no immediate need to re-examine them, but should do something besides stand at the counter staring at the blue cup.

Deciding that exploring the bunker is a better option, he leaves the kitchen behind.  He knows most of the underground building’s layout because Dean had given him a tour, but there hadn’t been a chance to examine each room, and now is as good a time as any.  

Which is how he finds himself in the library several minutes later.  None of the other rooms had held his attention, but this room with it’s ceiling high shelves filled to the brim with ancient tomes printed on paper captures his interest.  

Of course now that he’s here, he has no idea how to decide which book to read.  It would be easy to pull one at random from the shelves, but that action feels incorrect.  His gaze pans across the labels on the shelves and he decides to start with _Fiction A-C._  Entering the space between the shelves, he examines the spines of the books.

Some appear to be cheaply made, the paper cracked to the point where he can’t decipher the title or author.  Others are higher quality, woven cloth or what appears to be leather, but they also show much wear.  He reaches out and lightly runs his fingers over the partially peeled away letters on a book with a black cover the sensors in his fingertips register as smooth.

His touch slides to the next book, this one with a woven cloth cover in dark red.  Then he moves on to the next, a paperback that has been wrapped in some sort of plastic.  He assumes it’s to protect the crumbling cover.  

These books have obviously been handled often.  By Sam and Dean?  Do they use these treasures so regularly that the wear and tear is advanced by their touch alone?  

Looking around at the vast number of books surrounding him just between these two shelves, Castiel decides it is unlikely.  A human would be challenged to read all of them, much less re-read them often enough to cause the damage he can see.  According to Dean these books are old, so must have been held by many hands.

Including his own now.  The thought brings his attention back to his own fingers, still resting on the spine of the old paperback.  His hands look as real as any human’s, right down to the wrinkles around his knuckles and the light dusting of fine hairs that his advanced optics can pick out individually.  But unlike the hands of a human there are no oils in his synthetic skin that could harm the paper, and if he’s gentle with the books, he can minimize any further damage.

He starts to pull the ratty paperback from its place, but stills with it still mostly trapped between its neighbors.  He zooms in on the back of his hand, suddenly intensely focused on the texture of his skin.  

There are patterns there, lines in the skin, whorls around the knuckles.  They were designed to look real, but he can see the repeated shapes and lines.  His hands lack the subtle irregularities of a human’s.

A memory overlays his vision.  Of Dean’s hands, freckled and callused, as they pulled a book off the shelf and handed it over to Castiel to look at.  He replays it, zooming in on the back of Dean’s hand, searching for a pattern in the freckles.  Every time he thinks he’s found one, he changes the angle of the memory on the next replay and the pattern disappears.  

“Castiel?  Everything okay?”

Snapping out of the loop Castiel looks up to find the younger--and much taller--Winchester sibling standing close by.  His expression is wary, his body tensed for fight or flight.  He hasn’t overcome his distrust, then.  Castiel understands because his own defense protocol reacts to the possible threat of Sam Winchester deciding he is not to be trusted.  But Sam is not giving in to his own sense of danger, so Castiel overrides his internal alarm.  

“Hello Sam,” he says as he drops his hand from the book and turns to face Sam directly.  “I am functioning well.” A lie, since his sleep cycle did not complete and he just spent the last eighteen minutes and fifty-four seconds buried in a memory loop, but shutting off the alarm doesn’t mean he’s ignoring his defense protocols completely.  He only spares a fraction of a second wondering how he’s able to lie so easily, but concludes that it must be a function of his defense system.  “How are you this morning?  Did you sleep well?”

Sam blinks at him, and Castiel takes in all the details of his expression.  His brow furrows, and his lips purse.  It doesn’t quite look like there’s something unpleasant in his mouth, but more as if he’s unsure of the flavor.  The expression is brief, smoothing away into something friendlier.  “Yeah mostly.  What about you?”

Castiel tilts his head to get a different angle on Sam’s face.  The question is strange, and he isn’t sure how to answer it.  Is Sam genuinely curious, or is habit what prompted him to ask?  “I don’t truly sleep.  I merely go into a power saving mode.”

He leaves out the fact that he powered on before scheduled, or the sense of incorrectness that plagued him upon waking.  Dean has already stated he would not “mess with” Castiel’s programming, but that might change if he learns of more irregular subroutines.

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes.  “Yeah I know, Cas.  I was just being polite.”

“Ah, I see,” Castiel says.  “I’m sorry, the majority of my socialization with humans doesn’t include such niceties.  I will endeavor to respond with more appropriate platitudes in the future.”

This time his words make Sam laugh outright, and he rubs a palm over his face.  Castiel’s eyes take in the details of his hand, noting the length of his fingers, and the movement of tendons under the skin.  His nails are clean and well manicured.

Once again the image of Dean’s hand overlays his vision.  Dean’s nails were ragged, with a dark line underneath.  Dirt and oil were ground into his calluses, making his fingers look smudged in places even though Castiel had witnessed him washing his hands at the sink.

Sam drops his hand, bringing Castiel out of the memory.  He’s smiling ruefully, and his posture is more relaxed.  “So you like reading, huh?”

Castiel considers the question for a moment.  His eyes are drawn back the the shelf, and he reaches for the book he’d half pulled from its place.  He turns it over in his hands, and reads the back cover.  It describes a story of star crossed lovers searching for gold in the Old West, and questions whether they’ll overcome their differences to obtain the true treasure of each other’s love.

There’s nothing about the description of the story that particularly interests Castiel, but he decides it’s as good a place as any to start.  He holds it against his chest and returns his attention to Sam.  “I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.”

Sam eyes the book in his hands dubiously, but doesn’t comment on it.  “Well I hope you enjoy it.  It’s a lot of fun.”

The only reason Castiel had come to the library was to keep himself busy since downtime is not something he is accustomed to.  He had a steady stream of clients, and in between appointments he would clean up and prepare his work space for the next client.  On the infrequent occasions where he had gaps in his scheduled primary functions, Naomi would send him to assist with other brothel employees.  His original power supply did not require recharging, and she said it was wasteful to have him inactive for any length of time.  

His decision had not taken the possibility of enjoyment into consideration at all.  But his subroutines had guided him here even though there were many other options.  Was there something in his coding that influenced him?  Could it be a symptom of the errors Naomi claimed infested his operating system?

“I’m not sure if I’m programmed to have fun,” he admits to Sam.

Sam’s lips purse again, but his expression is more thoughtful than wary.  His eyes, which Castiel notices are multi-faceted with shards of green, blue, brown, and gold (unlike Dean’s--green shot through with gold, more crinkles at the corners when he smiles, curious and excited versus reserved and wary), trace down Castiel’s body, pausing at his hips for a moment before he meets Castiel’s eyes again.  His lips twist into a crooked smile.  “Are you programmed to like the color orange?”

Castiel opens his mouth to posit that he is not but pauses.  He frowns, unsure.  His operating system is who he is.  Everything he knows, thinks, and understands.  And yet he has very deliberately acted in opposition to parts of it, like when he defended himself against what he thought was a threat after Dean powered him on, or when Sam first joined him today and Castiel silenced his defense alarms.  

And the fact that he doesn’t know the answer to Sam’s question is yet another sign that there is something odd in his subroutines.  Why doesn’t he just _know?_

“Not that I’m aware of,” he finally answers, because his lack of knowledge the only thing that he’s sure of at the moment.

“Well maybe the same coding that lets you like a specific color will also let you have fun reading books,” Sam says with a smile.  “And if you don’t figure it out with that one-” he gestures at the paperback Castiel is still clutching to his chest “-we’ve got a few thousand down here in all kinds of genres, so you can experiment as much as you want.”

Castiel nods his understand.  “I would like to try.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”  He claps Castiel on the shoulder, squeezing lightly.  

It’s the first time Sam has touched him since Dean powered him on.  Castiel’s sensors feed him data, Sam’s body temperature, the pressure his fingers exert, the size of his palm.  It triggers another memory of Dean.  Smaller hand but warmer touch, tighter grip at first that loosens before his hand slides over the bolt of Castiel’s shoulder, fingers lingering along his upper arm before finally slipping away-

When Sam’s touch disappears, so does the memory.  Castiel snaps back into the moment.  “What kind of books do you like, Sam?”

“Not those,” he says with a chuckle.  “Romances are more Dean’s speed.  Although he’ll deny it till his dying breath, so don’t bother asking him about it.”

“Why would he deny it?” Castiel asks.

“Because half of Dean’s personality is sublimation.” Sam rolls his eyes and holds up a stalling hand as if he expects more questions.  “Don’t ask why, I haven’t figured it out yet, and I’m not a shrink.”

Castiel understands all the individual words, but strung together he doesn’t quite grasp their meaning.  But Sam told him not to ask questions about the subject, so he doesn’t, settling instead for “that’s odd.”

“Understatement,” Sam mutters.  But then he grins.  “Anyway, I either like to read something educational or something in the fantasy genre.  Want me to help you pick out a few books?”

“Yes, please.”

Castiel follows Sam between the shelves, listening closely as he mumbles to himself about the available choices.  “You know,” Sam says as he pulls a thick volume from a top shelf that even with his superior height requires a stretch to reach, “this might be easier for you to just download them.  There’s so many.”

“I’m not able to access the overnet.  Dean tried to assist me with connecting, but my system requires a security code that we were unable to bypass.”

Sam pauses with the book still held at shoulder level.  His expression is all hard edges, and if he could go back in time to change this conversation, Castiel would do so.  The reminder of Castiel’s possible malfunctions has brought back some of the mistrust that had disappeared from their interactions.

“You don’t know the code?”

Castiel shakes his head.  “I don’t.”

After a long moment of silence, Sam hands over the book, and his face softens.  It’s unlikely that he’ll forget the issue of the security code, but he doesn’t address it beyond “we’ll figure it out and get you hooked up.  In the meantime, at least there’s plenty of old fashioned books to keep you busy.”

Sam moves down the aisle and picks out more books, four in total, handing each to Castiel with a short explanation about the genre and why he chose it.  Two are books he loves, and two are his brother’s favorites.

“That he’ll admit to,” Sam says with a laugh as he adds Cat’s Cradle to the small pile in Castiel’s hands.  “After you read these, let me know what you think.  I’d be interested in your opinion.”

“If I have an opinion, I will definitely share it with you.”  Castiel shuffles the books in his hands, reading the back of each.  He finally opens the tattered and taped paperback romance that he’d started with and begins to read.

“Are you planning on standing there while you read?” Sam asks when Castiel turns to the second page.

He looks up from the text, meeting the taller man’s eyes.  The lighting is different, and the colors have shifted.  Interesting.  “Yes.”

Once again, Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.  “You don’t have to.  There’s some chairs-” he gestures towards the far end of the library, “-or you could hang out in your room, or whatever.”

Castiel wonders what “whatever” might entail, but it seems to be a figure of speech so he doesn’t comment.  The suggestion to go to his room is a good one because he can charge while he reads.  It’ll be slower than if he’s in sleep mode, but it’s more efficient than staying in the library and running his battery down.  “I will go to my room.”

“Great,” Sam says brightly.  

He falls in step next to Castiel on the way out of the library, glancing at him every few steps.  Not far from Castiel’s room, he says “we should get you some pants that fit right.”

Castiel slows and looks down at his bare legs.  “Should I _not_ be walking around in my underwear?”

Sam laughs at the question, and his hair sways around his ears when he shakes his head.  “Honestly, I don’t care, but it might give Dean an aneurysm.”

The comment freezes all of Castiel’s protocols long enough that he nearly falls.  But control resumes quickly enough that he only trips on the bare concrete.  “He will?  Are you sure?  I can put on the sweatpants he gave me immediately.”

Sam’s large hand is at his elbow, steadying Castiel from his near fall, and he’s not acting concerned about his brother’s well being at all.  He’s bent at the waist, free hand braced against his knee, and he’s laughing hard enough that Castiel is now concerned for _his_ health.

There are no solutions to the current situation in Castiel’s programming and he doesn’t know if he should do something for Sam, or rush to his room to better clothe himself.

Before he can work out the best course of action, a nearby door opens and Dean sticks his head out.  Despite the potential serious consequences of his inaction, Castiel takes precious seconds to examine his appearance.  His hair is flattened on one side, and spiked haphazardly on the other, and his cheek has red pressure lines along the skin.  The green-gold of his irises are hidden behind his lashes because he’s squinting at them as if the hallway light is too intense for his eyes.  

It’s only three seconds, but it may be enough to damage Dean, and Castiel quickly jerks the edges of his robe together.  Three of his books clatter to the floor.  “Don’t look Dean.  I’m not dressed properly.”

Sam howls and falls against the wall, slapping his knees and pointing at Dean’s face, which is scrunched up even further.

“What the hell are you talking about, and why is my brother having a conniption?”

The best course of action finalizes in Castiel’s programming and he backs quickly toward his bedroom.  “I apologize, my presence appears to be causing brain damage.”

He hears a befuddled “what the fuck?” over Sam’s laughter as he slips into his room and shuts the door.

It immediately opens behind him and Dean steps through.  “Cas, what’s going on?

“You must not look at me until I’m wearing pants,” Castiel orders on his way to the dresser.  “I don’t want you to have an aneurysm.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dean grunts.  He crosses the room in long strides and stops Castel from opening the drawer.  “What did Sam say?”

Castiel angles his body away from Dean as much as he can.  “He said I should get some pants that fit right because walking around in my underwear may give you an aneurysm.  And just now, Sam started having a conniption-”

“Whoa, buddy.” Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand and instead grabs both his shoulders and with unexpected strength pulls Castiel to face him.  “Those are figures of speech.  He’s saying that I think you’re sexy and it might drive me a little bit crazy to see you half naked.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow.  He’s not sure developing a mental illness is less of a danger, but instead of saying so, he waits for Dean to continue his explanation.

“And Sam’s not really having a conniption fit, he’s just laughing harder than I’ve seen him do in a while.” Dean grins.  “Which, good job by the way.  Sammy likes to play stoic, so props, man.”

“It’s hyperbole,” Sam adds from the doorway.  His cheeks are flushed red, and his eyes are bright, and his grin shows nearly all his teeth.  The books Castiel dropped are cradled in his hands.  “That’s how most people talk.”

Looking back and forth between the brothers, Castiel searches for any sign of illness or injury and finds none.  They’re both grinning at him, as if they approve of this whole misunderstanding.  

“I find this all highly confusing.”

Both men begin to laugh again.  Dean squeezes Castiel’s shoulders then his touch falls away.  But for some reason the sensors where his hands were remain active.

“We’ll help you figure it out,” Dean says through lingering chuckles.  He grabs a book out of Castiel’s hand, the worn out paperback, and wrinkles his nose at it.  “Y’know what though?  If you want a real education on human vernacular, it’ll be easier to pick up through movies.”  He grabs the other book from Castiel and tosses them on the bed with little care for their condition and the damage he might inflict to them.  

Castiel almost protests such treatment, but he’s distracted when Dean throws an arm around his shoulders and steers him toward the door.  As they pass Sam, the younger, taller Winchester puts the last three books on Castiel’s bedside table with far more respectful care than Dean showed them.  Knowing they’re safe makes it easier for Castiel to pay attention to Dean as they leave the room.

“We told you it’s okay to wander around in your underoos, Cas, and we meant it-”

“What is this ‘we’ bullshit?” Sam calls from behind them.

Dean ignores the interruption.  “Next time we go out we’ll make sure to get you a proper wardrobe.  But for today, we’re going to work on your education.  I’m thinking we should start with Westerns…”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe jupiter_james my first born for helping me get Cas right in this chapter :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Castiel clothes shopping. MONTAGE!!

Even though the door is open, Dean raps his knuckles against the wood to get his brother’s attention.  “Hey, I’m gonna take Cas to the market.  Want me to pick up anything for you?”

Sam’s eyes, which have the glazed lack of focus that usually indicate he’s deep net surfing, blink a few time before he turns his head to look at Dean.  There’s still a glow under the skin of his temples, which means he’s only half-surfaced.  “Actually, if you’ll give me a few minutes I’ll go with you.”

Dean grins.  “You wanna play fashionista with a robot?”

That earns him an eye roll and a more focused look.  “Put him in a dress for all I care.  I want to stop at Gabriel’s.”

“Cybersex with your boyfriend ain’t enough?” Dean teases.

“It’s just not the same as getting nailed to the mattress in the flesh,” Sam sighs as he sits up and swings his feet off the bed.

The delivery is so nonchalant that Dean isn’t completely sure if Sam’s serious or not.  He could be either, but what really catches Dean’s attention is the fact that there was no added denial about the “b” word.  He opens his mouth to say something snarky, but nothing comes to mind, and he clicks his teeth back together.  

Sam, ever the bratty little brother even when pushing forty, smirks.  

“Dude,” Dean protests.  “Fuckin’ him is one thing--and by the way, _gross--_ but you can’t be serious about-” he waves a hand around while he searches for words, finally settling on “being _serious_ about Gabriel.”

“We’ve been serious for years, Dean.”  Sam rummages under his bed and pulls out a pair of dusty boots, slides his feet in and starts lacing them up.  “You know we have.”

“Yeah but now you’re admitting it.” Dean’s mouth twists with distaste.  “I think I preferred denial.”

After a last tug of the laces, Sam straightens to his full height and gives Dean a wicked grin.  “You look like you’re sucking on a lemon.”

“I wish we had some,” Dean counters.  “Might be able to wash the nasty out of my mouth.”

Sam crosses the room, and claps Dean on the shoulder.  “Wash the stuff you put in there first, and it’ll be less of a problem.”  He winks and squeezes past Dean out into the hall.

“I’ll wash your…” Dean trails off realizing that no matter how he finishes that threat, he’s going to sound like an idiot.  He settles instead for flipping off his brother’s retreating back.

He follows, stopping at Castiel’s room.  The android is fully dressed, shoes and everything, including the soft blue robe over the ensemble.  He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, back ramrod straight.  His eyes are focused on an open book cradled in his hands, and he’s so still that Dean would think he was powered off if it weren’t for the tiny flick of his eyes over the page and the steady rise and fall of his chest.  

“Hey, Cas.  Ready to go?”

Castiel’s eyes immediately track to Dean, and even though it’s not a full smile, his expression shifts into something that looks pleased.  “Yes, I’m ready.” He tucks a marker in his book before setting it aside and looks down at himself as he rises to stand.  “Is this appropriate clothing?”

He’s wearing his usual ensemble, only with the sweatpants, socks, and shoes added.  At least Dean assumes he’s wearing socks.  The pants belonged to Sam and they droop around Castiel’s feet so only the toes of his sneakers peek out from under the gray hems.

“Lose the robe,” Dean says with a grin.  It’s only been about a week and Dean has yet to see him without the robe, although he still walks around in his underwear despite the misunderstanding a few day before.  “If you’re cold we’ll get you a coat while we’re out.”

“I don’t experience cold, and my systems are running at optimal-”

Dean waves to cut off the jargon.  “Yeah yeah I get it, C-3PO.  Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Sam has called me C-3PO as well,” Castiel says as he shrugs out of his robe.  He folds it neatly and sets it on the bed near his unused pillow before turning back to Dean.  “I don’t understand the significance.”

Dean’s eyes are drawn to the movement of Castiel’s muscles under his thin t-shirt.  Whoever built the synthetic biceps and pecs and abs did a damn fine job.  “It’s from a really old movie.  There’s an android who takes everything way too literally named C-3PO.”

“Does this android also misunderstand hyperbole?”

The question is accompanied by a head-tilt, which makes Dean want to tilt his head too.  He has to shake himself a little to resist the urge.  “Yeah, complete shit at it.  But he’s pretty awesome.”

The corners of Castiel’s lips curve upward in a tiny smile.  “I would like to see that movie when we are done with your Westerns.”

Dean grins.  “That can definitely be arranged.  Later though.  Let’s go.”

He leads the way through the bunker and into his workshop.  Technically it’s a huge garage for all the vintage cars and bikes that were stored in it before the wars, but most of those have been sold off since Dean was a kid and he uses the resulting open space to work on his projects.  One of which is his favorite of the old cars that he refuses to sell.  He runs his fingers over the drop cloth covering the monstrous machine underneath, silently promising to give her some attention soon.  

Sam is already waiting for him at the car they’re taking into the city, and his bike is folded and attached to the roof.  Dean eyes it with disgust, knowing that if Sam’s bringing it along he’s probably not planning on coming back with them.  

On the other hand, that means he’ll have some real alone time with Castiel.  He can’t really take advantage of that the way he’d fantasized doing before he turned Cas on for the first time, but it’ll be nice to be out from under Sam’s judgemental eye.  And it means that Sam is also lightening up.  Dean knows his brother still doesn’t completely trust the android, but at least he’s not hovering anymore.  Progress is progress, and Dean’ll take the baby steps.

Castiel is silent in the back seat until they emerge from the bunker’s tunnel, and then he shifts closer to the window, practically pressing his nose against the glass.  “What is this place?”  

There’s not much to see besides the old warehouse built above the bunker.  The little town that used to exist here is completely abandoned, leaving behind crumbling buildings and the occasional rusted hunk of what used to be a functioning vehicle.

“It’s called Lebanon,” Sam answers.  “It’s been abandoned since before we were born.  There wasn’t anything around here that could keep businesses open, especially after it got harder to grow crops outside the environmental domes.”  

Dean looks around at the empty buildings he usually doesn’t notice, and it’s kind of creepy now that he’s paying attention.  Squatters aren’t a problem, probably because of a lack of protection from the harsh elements combined with the eerie haunted feel the place gives off.  Not that a ghost is likely to be found outside the city.  A monster might find adequate shelter in the decrepit buildings, but without access to prey Dean doubts any of them would bother.  

“You never been out of the city, Cas?” he asks as they pass a building only barely recognizable as an old petroleum gas station.  

Castiel presses his palm against the window, and continues to crane his neck to look at everything they pass.  “Many of my memories are inaccessible after multiple resets, so I don’t know.  But since the last time, I only have memories of the brothel and waking up in your home.”

Looking to his right, Dean meets Sam’s eyes.  They don’t need to speak out loud or via message link to communicate that the idea of having memories constantly wiped is an uncomfortable one.  

“What about music?” Dean asks as he turns his attention back to the road.  “Any memories of that?”

They’ve passed the edges of what’s left of Lebanon and all that’s left to see is fields in every direction except forward where the city glimmers through its protective dome.  Castiel sits back in his seat, and meets Dean’s gaze through the rear view mirror.  “Nothing more than the background music of the movies.”

“Well it looks like we’ve got a teachable moment,” Dean says with a grin.  He calls up his favorite driving playlist, and since Castiel can’t access it directly from the overnet he shares it with the car’s speakers instead.  Bon Jovi’s Dead or Alive blares loudly, and Dean ignores Sam’s stink-eye.  “Pay attention, Cas!”

Because of Dean’s lead foot, they only have time to listen to a few songs before they’re passing through the city’s dome.  Castiel ends up glued to the window again, and Dean turns the music down so Sam can answer the android’s questions about what he sees.  

Once again, Dean has to make an effort to pay attention to his surroundings, trying to see the warehouses and food plants like Castiel does.  As something new and interesting, which they haven’t been for Dean since he was only knee high.  Sam points out places that Dean never visits, his voice taking on a professor’s lecturing tone as he explains recycling, food production, and waste processing.  It’s all boring as fuck to Dean, but Castiel’s pure curiosity is entertaining to witness.  

Cute, even.

Ah hell, he’s developing a crush on a robot.  And no, he will not be admitting that to anyone, thank you.  Since 1-he’s far too old to experience something as juvenile as a _crush,_ and B-there’s no way in hell Sam, or most of their friends even, will let him live something like that down.  

The last of the warehouses end, and so does the standard road.  The car shimmies briefly as it switches to the magnetic runners.  Dean ignores the prompt to allow the car to go into auto-drive, and steers away from the clean shiny parts of the city to the darker areas that the Winchesters usually frequent.

Castiel’s questions slow as they enter the city proper.  Probably because there’s too much going on for him to take in all at once, even with a fancy computer for a brain.  But the previous barrage has made Dean more aware of his surroundings, and he frowns out the windshield.  It’s obvious that this is the “poor” section of the city.  Everything and everyone is covered in a layer of disillusionment.  Even cleaned and well lit, buildings show the wear of years without proper maintenance, and people’s postures droop with the weight of hardship.  

But just like the shinier upper levels of the city, the underbelly flashes with neon advertisements and eye catching holographs offering services that not many of the people wandering the streets could ever afford.  Like the state of the art android brothel Garrison that flashes up in Dean’s vision.  The beautiful, gyrating figures in the ad break apart in a splash as they pass through them, but Castiel doesn’t seem to notice anything.  Without an overnet connection, he probably doesn’t see most of the holographs since they are usually beamed straight into a person’s neural net.  

Lucky fucker.  Dean’s tries to keep the ads filtered out, but apparently it’s time to upgrade his blocker software.  

They pull around to a back lot behind Gabriel’s shop, and the three of them exit the car.  Dean waits for Sam to remove his bike before locking it down and setting the alarm.  

“You gonna come in and say hi?” Sam asks as he heads towards the shop’s back door.  

The last time Dean saw Gabriel it was when he’d brought Castiel in for appraisal.  He’s not really in the mood to deal with any teasing he might get for not getting railed by the sexbot, or to greet the junk dealer as Sam’s boyfriend instead of his piece of ass.  He waves Sam away and hooks his fingers around Castiel’s elbow to lead him away from the shop.  “Not today, Sammy.  Got a lot to do.”

Sam gives him a knowing look.  “Uh huh, sure.  Well, if you need me you know where to find me.”  He turns a smile on Castiel.  “Have fun, Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam.  I hope you have fun too.”

Dean chokes, and ignores Sam’s grin as he clears his throat.  He tugs Castiel’s elbow.  “C’mon, man.  Let’s go.”

He leads Castiel out of the small parking area and back to the main street.  It’s enclosed on either side by buildings covered in advertisements and graffiti.  Power lines and makeshift bridges connect the upper floors of the buildings above them, blocking out any light that might filter down to the city’s lower levels from the environmental dome’s day lights.  It makes the place feel deep underground.

Although there are levels below the streets, and Dean avoids those places unless he absolutely has to go down there for a hunt.  Claustrophobia isn’t really a problem for him, having grown up in an underground bunker, but he much prefers the dark illusion of a ceiling over his head to the actual tunnels below his feet.

He has to keep a hand on Castiel’s arm to guide him through the crowded streets.  The android stares around him with open curiosity, sometimes getting a growled threat from someone who doesn’t want to be looked at too closely.  Dean hurries them away from confrontations, and together they weave through the narrowing streets until they reach the open market.  

The scent of fried food smacks him in the face as soon as they round a corner, and Dean takes a deep whiff.  His mouth waters at the mix of sweet and savory smells, and despite the lecture about questionable ingredients he’ll probably get if Sam finds out, he’s definitely going to get something to eat before they leave.  

It’s even harder to guide Castiel through the market.  The open stalls lining the street take up most of the space, leaving only a narrow walkway between them.  His hand migrates from Castiel’s elbow to his wrist because it’s easier to hold on to him while walking in front of him.  

He nearly trips on air when Castiel’s strong fingers wrap around his own wrist in return.  His synthetic skin feels warm and human, and Dean has to look back to remind himself that he’s being followed by an android and not a real person.  Castiel’s inhuman irises circle when he meets Dean’s eyes, but the tiny curve of his lips is so real that Dean has to jerk his gaze away.  

It’s a relief when he reaches the stall he was aiming for, because he can let go of Castiel.  He flexes his hand and wrist, but the phantom touch takes a few seconds to fade.  “Alright, Cas, look around and see if there’s anything you like.”

Castiel obeys, turning his head back and forth as he walks into the maze of clothes.  They’re suspended from wire and rope strung up high enough that people of average height won’t garrote themselves walking through the aisles.  Dean, being above average, has to duck under most of them, and even Castiel bends his head down below a few ropes.  

“I can choose anything that fits?” Castiel asks, fingering the sleeve of a black jersey shirt.  

Dean pulls up a report of his credit balance.  Despite not selling Castiel, he’d gotten a pretty good haul from his scavenging trip.  “Don’t go buck wild on the cost, but yeah pick whatever.  I’ll let you know if something is too expensive.”

Castiel nods, and turns his attention back to the hanging wall of cloth in front of him.  He starts pushing them apart so he can check the styles more clearly, and access the tags.

“Aww… shopping with your boyfriend, Dean-o?”

Dean turns his attention down and to the side to find the shop owner’s daughter smirking up at him.  He glares at her for the nickname, although there’s not much heat behind it. “He’s just a friend, kiddo.”

Her lips twist with displeasure.  “Not a kid.”

“Tell that to the law.” He grins and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his side in a half-hug. “How’s things, Krissy?”

A thin arm snakes around his waist and she hugs him back briefly before scooting away from his touch.  “Good as they can be, I guess.  Dad just got back from a hunt, and he’s getting some rest.”

Dean winces.  He never has been comfortable with Krissy being left on her own, but at the same time he knows she’s probably way better off.  His own childhood had been cut short by being brought along on his father’s hunts, and he wouldn’t wish that on any kid.  But at the same time, she’s only seventeen and she doesn’t exactly live in suburbia.  “You know you’re welcome at our place when he’s on a job.”

She slants him a glare.  “And who’ll run the shop while I’m gone?”

He sighs, conceding the point.  Hunting doesn’t pay, and the Chambers family has to support themselves somehow.  “I get it, but the invitation’s open.”

She knocks him lightly in the arm with a fist.  “Yeah, I know.  You’re good people, Dean.”  She tilts her head at Castiel who already has a few items draped over his arm and is drifting out of sight among the swaying rows of cloth.  “He’s a little old for one of your orphans isn’t he?”

Dean has no idea how old Castiel is.  He could have been manufactured a year ago or twenty.  Maybe longer, although Dean’s not sure how long such realistic androids have been around for.  It’s not like he can afford to get into the kind of place Castiel worked in, and if an android like him was out walking in the streets, Dean’s not sure he would have noticed anything off about them unless they were face to face, and even then he might have thought the guy had cybernetic eye replacements or something.  But Castiel has been built to look like an adult, maybe around Dean’s age, with fine lines around his eyes and mouth that could be from laughter or years.

The way they crinkle when he smiles is one of the things that make him so realistic.  Whoever designed his looks really put thoughts into the details.

Obviously he’s realistic enough that Krissy hasn’t noticed that he isn’t human, and Dean isn’t sure it’s a good idea to tell her.  Not that he doesn’t trust her, but information like that getting out could leak to someone less savory.  The last thing he needs is someone stealing Cas.

The idea of someone resetting Castiel and treating him like an object makes Dean clench his fists in silent threat to non-existent enemies.  Having no one to aim that anger at gives him heartburn, and he swallows bile down.  

It’s the exact same reaction he has when any of the people he considers to be under his protection are threatened.  Huh.  Castiel really is one of his orphans.

“Age is just a number,” he mumbles.  

Krissy snorts.  “Oh really?  Remind yourself that the next time you wanna treat me like a kid.”

He slants her a dubious look.  “You _are_ a kid.”

“No, you’re just _old._ ”

It’s a familiar argument, and he falls into the snarky back and forth they always share.  He’s not even middle aged, and she’s not even legal to vote, buy cigarettes or alcohol, or even watch porn yet.  Damn _kid._

He adores the heck out of her.  He’s not going to tell her though.  That’s just asking for trouble.

Their bickering is interrupted when Castiel reappears, a pile of clothes in his arms.  “Dean, I believe I have what I need.”

“Do you want to try them on?” Krissy asks, immediately switching from give-Dean-shit mode to professional.  

Castiel’s eyes narrow.  “Do I need to?”

“Yeah you should,” Dean answers, walking forward to meet Castiel and finger through the clothing draped over his arm.  He’s not surprised to find something orange in the mix.  “Just because it’s in your size doesn’t mean it’ll fit right.”

Castiel nods solemnly.  “I see.”

And then he shoves the pile of clothes into Dean’s arms.  Dean scrambles to make sure he’s got it all so nothing slips to the dirty street.  By the time he’s sure he’s got it, Castiel’s already got his t-shirt off and is reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Whoa whoa, buddy.  You can’t strip right here in the street.”

Behind him Krissy snorts.  “You’re the only one that minds, Dean-o.”  When Dean throws a glare over his shoulder at her, her cheeky grin only widens.  “What?  He’s hot.”

For once Castiel doesn’t comment on his system temperature.  “I apologize.  Is there a better place to do this?”

“Yeah we got a changing room.”  Krissy squeezes past them, her shoulders brushing against the rack of clothing and leaving it swaying behind her.  “C’mon, this way.”

She leads them into the store proper, and gestures toward a wall lined with dressing rooms.  They don’t have doors, just sheets hanging over the openings.  “Use whichever one you want, and leave anything you’re not going to buy in the laundry basket.  I’ll be outside when you’re ready to pay.”

Dean hands Castiel’s chosen clothing back to him and takes a seat in a cheap plastic chair nearby.  “If you’re not sure about anything come out and let me see you wearing it.”

“Alright,” Castiel agrees solemnly before disappearing behind one of the hanging sheets.  

They’re sheer enough that Dean can see his silhouette through the cloth, and he quickly averts his gaze.  Even though Castiel walks around the bunker in his underwear, it feels too intimate to watch him in the act of changing his clothes while he’s unaware of Dean’s scrutiny.  

 _He’s a damn android, and probably doesn’t give a shit._ But telling himself that doesn’t help because Dean cares.  It’s a pitfall of being a human, unfortunately.

The soft thump of clothing against the floor brings Dean’s eyes back.  Under the edge of the sheet, he can see Castiel’s bare feet and ankles surrounded by his discarded clothing, and that shouldn’t do anything for him, but his dick has a mind of its own apparently.  He looks away quickly, crossing his legs to hide anything that might be happening between them.  Not that he’s got an audience, but he’s not taking chances.  The place is probably lined with a million hidden security cameras, and the last thing he needs is to give Krissy ammunition to tease him later.

For a few minutes the only sound in the store is the noise filtering in from the street outside the open door, and the soft susurration of cloth against synthetic skin occasionally broken by the sound of zippers and snaps.  Dean’s shoulders relax and the situation in his pants calms down.  

Movement from the corner of his eyes brings Dean’s attention around again.  Castiel pushes the curtain to the side and steps out of the small room.  He holds his hands out to his sides, his eyebrows lifted in question.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans that are a little bit long so they cover the tops of his feet and will probably get caught under his heels, but they fit the rest of him like they were tailored to him.  The way the denim hugs his muscular thighs and show off his endowments without crushing his crotch makes Dean’s mouth go dry.  He can’t decide if he wants to Cas to turn around and show off his ass or not, because he’s not sure he’ll survive it.  

So of course Castiel does it anyway, circling around--and yes, his ass looks sexy as fuck.  Holy hell, Dean’s beginning to wonder how jeans are even legal.  “Yeah,” he manages to squeeze out through a dry throat.  “Those look good.”

Castiel’s smile is wider than Dean has ever seen before although he still doesn’t flash his teeth.  He ducks back behind the curtain, but Dean doesn’t have long to recover because he comes back out in the same pair of pants with different shirts.  A classic blue button up, and four different t-shirts.  Dean gives his approval for all of them, even if he does wonder why Cas picked the purple one with the dog on it.  No accounting for taste, he guesses.

The next change takes a little bit longer, and Castiel comes out in an orange sun dress with giant yellow flowers, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his damn mind.  His own pants grow uncomfortably tight as he imagines Castiel wandering around the bunker barefoot with flowery cloth swirling around his calves.  

Or pushed up against the wall, gasping for breath as Dean hikes the soft cloth up around his hips…

“Oh that looks great!”

Krissy’s voice snaps Dean out of his spiraling thoughts, and he sends a quick command to his nanites to stop the rising heat in his cheeks.  It doesn’t work to disguise his thoughts though because Krissy smirks at whatever the hell his expression must be doing.  “I think Dean likes it too”

Castiel looks at Dean, unblinking as always.  “I believe you’re right.”  He smooths his hand over his hip.  “The color is pleasant isn’t it, Dean?”

Dean shoots a warning glare at Krissy when she laughs, but forces a smile for Castiel.  “Yeah, it’s uh… it’s real nice.  Looks good on you.”

He wonders if Castiel is still wearing the matching orange briefs underneath.  Then he immediately pushes that thought away because there’s a minor in the room, and his body is having all kinds of reactions to his inappropriate imagination.

When Castiel disappears back behind the curtain, Dean huffs out a breath and slumps in his chair.  

“Not your boyfriend, huh?” Krissy says knowingly.  She slips back outside before he can answer.

Brat always has to get the last word.  Not that Dean thinks he could muster up a rebuttal at the moment.  He’s pretty sure seeing Castiel in that dress might have fried one or two of his circuits.

Thankfully the next few outfits Castiel models are, if not less mouth watering on the sex bot, then at least slightly less boner inducing.  He picked out a few pairs of slacks, one of which Dean nixes because the fit is too loose, and a couple sweaters that Dean also wants to say no to but doesn’t because Castiel seems so pleased with them.  

After Castiel has finished trying everything on, it turns out that he only kept about half of what he brought in.  The pile he walks out of the dressing room with is much smaller, which Dean is silently glad for.  He could afford a bigger wardrobe for the android, but he doesn’t want Sam giving him shit about finances for dressing a robot who would be perfectly happy wandering around in a robe and his underwear all the time.

He’s ignoring Krissy’s smirk as she rings up the items when Castiel drifts away from his side.  When Dean looks over to see what he’s doing, he finds Castiel fingering the beige sleeve of a long coat.  “Do you want that too?”

Castiel pulls the coat from its hook, slips it on then turns to Dean.  It’s a bit too big, and makes him look like a flasher, but he’s smiling wide enough to show his teeth.  And the way he’s smoothing his hands over the droopy lapels keeps Dean’s mouth shut about the creeper vibe.  “Yes I do.”

“Alright, bring it over and add it to the bunch.”

Castiel rejoins him, but seems reluctant to remove the trench coat.  Krissy gives him an indulgent smile, and reaches out to run her palm over the coat’s sleeve to scan the price.  “Don’t worry, you can keep it on.  I’ve got everything else scanned.”

That earns another small smile and Castiel snugs the coat tighter around his chest.  

Dean rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything about how ugly the damn thing is.  He just holds his hand out for payment.  Krissy hovers her palm over his until the credits transfer, and then sends him an encrypted receipt.  

“You can change into something you bought if you want to,” Krissy offers Castiel once the exchange is complete.

“I’d like that, thank you.”  Castiel gathers up his haul and disappears into the store to change.

“If he ain’t your boyfriend now, I don’t think it’ll be long,” Krissy says wryly once he’s out of sight.

Realizing his eyes were glued to Castiel’s ass the whole time he was walking away, Dean jerks his eye back to the sassy teen.  He glares at her.  “Shut yer trap.  It’s none of your business.”

Her grin is unrepentant, and she spreads her hands out with a shrug.  “I’m just sayin’, I don’t blame you for wanting to jump all over that.”

He wants to argue, but the fact is that he’s wanted to ‘jump all over that’ since he pulled it out from under a pile of trash.  Or at least since he washed all the grime off Castiel’s body once he got him home.  Doesn’t matter how hot someone is, Dean’s got standards, and they involve far less gunk getting close to his junk.  

Castiel chooses that moment to re-emerge from the inner sanctum of the shop.  He’s wearing the same gray t-shirt he left the bunker in, but he’s swapped out the sweatpants with the barely legal jeans, and he’s got the ugly trench over the top of everything.

Well at least Dean won’t get stuck staring at Castiel’s ass if he’s wearing the coat.  He’ll take the small blessings.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gabriel visit Moondor to further their investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Sabriel-centric chapter, but 99% plotty :)

Entering Gabriel’s shop from the back entrance is actually more difficult since the back offices are even more cluttered with junk.  Sam weaves through the precarious stacks and piles, careful not to knock anything with his body because if any of these towers collapse he’ll definitely end up crushed, probably impaled, and likely dead before he can be dug free of the wreckage.  He has no idea how Gabriel flits around the shop without fear of being crushed.  

When Sam asks, he always gets an eyebrow waggle and a cheerfully cryptic “I know my organizational system, Samshine!”

There’s a small open area around the door leading from the back office to the front half of the shop, where stairs lead up to the left to the loft apartment Gabriel lives in.  When Sam reaches it, he can see that Gabriel’s not out there.  The front desk is being manned by Aaron, his behemoth of a security robot Golem towering near his shoulder and intimidating customers with its permanent scowl.  It’s effective security, because even Sam is intimidated by Golem’s size.  

He doesn’t pause to say hello.  Aaron is a decent kid, but Sam isn’t in the mood to socialize, especially with Golem staring him down while they chat.  So he swings a left and climbs the steep staircase to the second floor where he lets himself into Gabriel’s apartment.

It’s just as cluttered as the shop downstairs, although the path to the bedroom is safer to navigate.  Sam eyes the excess scrap and electronic parts wryly thinking how it’s a good thing neither of them are clingy enough to insist on cohabitation.  He loves Gabriel stupid, but there’s no way in hell they’d be able to maintain a healthy relationship if they lived together.  Sam isn’t a neat freak, not like Dean anyway, but next to Gabriel’s hoarder habits he seems downright OCD.

He finds his boyfriend in his bedroom, the only room in the place that’s free of clutter and clean enough to look like a normally functioning human lives there.  There’s a pile of laundry in the corner, and an empty glass and plate on the bedside table, and the bed is rumpled and unmade, but there’s nothing else stacked on available surfaces, and the floor is clear.  

Gabriel is sprawled naked on his stomach in the center of the huge bed, feet up in the air swinging back and forth.  The biocircuitry tattooed into his back in the pattern of feathers glows yellow, indicating he’s deep in the overnet, so Sam engages his own neural net.

Immediately the room around him disappears.  The solid walls are replaced by the gently swaying cloth of a tent, and the bed becomes a raised platform piled with thick furs that Sam knows will be unbelievably soft.  Various furniture is replaced by trunks overflowing with silks and jewels, a lamp stand in the corner becomes three spears in a circular stand, and the faux wood floor under Sam’s shoes becomes soft grass.  

And Gabriel’s body mostly disappears below the folds of his golden wings.

Sam steps close to the bed and runs a finger over one of the long flight feathers.  Until it twitches away and Gabriel is rolling to his side, grinning up at him.

“Samshine, you made it!”

When Gabriel opens his arms in invitation, Sam joins him on the pile of furs.  They align their bodies, chest to thigh, and Sam chuckles when Gabriel plants a sloppy kiss against his mouth.  “Hey, Gabe.”

Gabriel’s eyes, augmented by the digital world surrounding them to shimmer in a way they don’t in reality, are bright with surprise.  “I didn’t think we were going to have this meeting in person.”

“Dean had errands in the city, and I decided to ride in with him.”  Sam slides his palm over Gabriel’s hip to palm his ass, mostly bare under a scrap of fabric posing as a loincloth, pulling him even closer.  “Brought my bike though, so I don’t have to head back until I feel like it.”

“That is very good news.”  Gabriel tilts his head up for a kiss, and Sam’s quick to indulge him.  

Their lips slide together, and Sam hums his pleasure.  His neural net is advanced enough to provide him physical sensation in virtual reality settings, but it’s never quite as good as the real thing.  

“Hm maybe,” Gabriel breathes against Sam’s lips, “we should skip the meeting and just fuck like bunnies till the queen comes looking for us.”

It’s tempting, but breaking the Kingdom’s rules is a quick way to gain unwanted attention.  Sam isn’t as fully invested in the game as Dean is, but enough players recognize him that they could decide to engage him in side quests if he doesn’t keep his existing appointment.  Not only would that be a huge waste of his time, but it would most likely interrupt whatever hanky panky Gabriel has in mind anyway.  

He gives Gabriel one more deep and dirty kiss before he pulls away, leaving the other man staring after him in a daze.  Then he rolls off the bed and stands.  “Come on, let’s get this over with and then we can play by our own rules for the rest of the night if you want.”

“Goddamn you’re sexy, even when you’re _right._ ” The last word is spit out with a healthy dose of disgust.  But he pops up from the bed and strides over to a chest overflowing with silks and brocades, and starts to pull out random items and pull them on.  Outside of their augmented reality, it’s probably a tank top under an ugly hawaiian shirt and flamboyant board shorts, but within the confines of the game, it’s a silk shirt with an embroidered vest and braces, with slashes in the shirts to allow room for his wings.  

Sam’s own clothing changed appearance when he logged in, his leather jacket, flannel shirt,and jeans transforming into more elegant attire fit for the fantasy world.  The only thing missing is his mask, and he runs his hands over his face, shaping virtual reality with his mind until his face is covered with a fitted leather mask held up by a crown of moose antlers.

Gabriel plops down on the edge of the bed again and pulls on a pair of boots (battered sneakers), and looks up at Sam as he ties them.  He bounces his eyebrows.  “Lookin’ good, Highness.”

Rolling his eyes behind the mask only makes Gabriel laugh, which brings a smile to Sam’s lips as well.  

After he’s dressed Gabriel dons a brassy mask with a humanoid face that is half laughing and half crying, and completely grotesque.  Horns curve up from forehead, the points sharp enough to gore someone.  His wings rustle and curve against his shoulders until they look more like a cape of feathers.  He holds his hands out to his sides in presentation.  “Do I look ready for a meeting with the queen?”

“Good enough I guess,” Sam teases.  “Let’s go.”

They leave the tent and find themselves at the edge of a large encampment.  The flags of many nations flutter at the entrances of the rainbow of tents surrounding them, which makes Sam grimace.  “I forgot there was a tournament going on.”

“I’m surprised Deany-weany let you forget,” Gabriel says as he falls into step next to Sam, keeping up easily despite the different lengths of their strides.  “Shouldn’t he be here to defend his championship?” Despite the mask, Sam can hear the wicked grin in his voice.  “Or is he having too much fun with his new toy boy?”

“Oh he’s definitely distracted by Castiel.  You know how he gets when he’s got a new project.”

“Obsessive as fuck,” Gabriel mutters with a snort.

“Exactly.” Sam takes in his surroundings for a moment while they walk.  Around them the brightly colored tents pull at his eye.  Even though he _knows_ that they’re just walking in circles in Gabriel’s room, guided by the augmented reality of the game so they don’t run into anything, he’s still always impressed with the depth of detail this particular game is programmed with.  “He might also be a little bit pissy about the boyfriend thing.”

“Jesus, really?  I thought we’ve been getting along.  Why is he being so overprotective?”

“You know what our childhood was like.”  Constantly fraught with danger, and both of them shouldered with responsibilities they shouldn’t have been.  “Give him a few days to be a dick about it, and he’ll come around.  Dean doesn’t really hate you.  He’s all bark and no bite.”

“What’s his problem with _me_ anyway?” Gabriel grumbles.

“He thinks you corrupted me.”

The grotesque mask swings around to face Sam.  “Does he not know that you’re the one who dragged me into the bathroom and sucked me off the first time we did the dirty dirty?”

Sam grins behind his mask.  “He doesn’t, but the next time he’s giving me shit about you, I’ll be sure to let him know.”

Gabriel huffs a laugh, and they fall quiet as they near the queen’s tent.  It’s huge compared to the rest of the encampment, surrounded by guards and a milling crowd of people hoping for an audience, or even a glimpse of royalty.  With this many people around they have to follow the game’s rules and stay in character or risk getting temporarily banned.  

Which means that most of the crowd parts when they see Sam’s crown.  He has never been as into the Moondoor game as Dean, but he does have to admit the merits of having earned his own kingdom do make it easier to play.  Dean stopped at knighthood, because he didn’t like the roles with more responsibility, but Sam finds his in game status useful for many reasons.

The main one being that the guards at the tent’s entrance take one glance at his crown, and immediately pass a message inside about his presence.  They barely pause in the clearing that opened up around them before the guards are pulling aside the tent flaps and inviting them inside.  Soft groans follow them through the doorway as players realize their hopes of an audience with the queen that day are reduced, but no one openly protests.  

The Crown Prince Samuel of Lawrencia is not a power most people want to annoy.  And those who recognize his companion as the trickster demigod Loki are even more fearful.

An attendant announces them as they enter, and the queen looks up from her conversation with her court sorceress.  Her mask is that of a stylized bird of prey, long feathers splaying out around her head in a circle.  The shades of red, orange, and yellow are blended together so that the halo of feathers look like flames, representing the phoenix that graces her coat of arms.  And unlike any of the masks worn by Sam, Gabriel, and everyone else in attendance, her mask is “spelled” to be completely lifelike.  Even though a smile is not possible with a beak, the skin around the sharp eyes crinkles up in a happy expression, and the beak parts when she speaks.

“Prince Samuel, Loki, welcome.  It is good to see you both.”

As the supreme leader of the entire game of Moondor--and the creator, although very few players are aware of that--she outranks them, so they both sink into deep and respectful bows.  

“Hello, Majesty!” Loki greets enthusiastically, straightening from his bow despite not having been giving permission yet.  An action he only gets away with due to his status as a demigod.  “I’ve missed your fiery beauty.”

She rolls her eyes at them, but there’s no censure in her voice.  “Please rise, gentlemen,” she says wryly, an order Sam obeys properly because he’s only a prince.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“We’ve come as requested, to discuss the subject of Leviathans, Majesty,” Sam says.

“I believe this is a discussion that requires more privacy,” the queen says in response to the code word.  She gestures around at the lingering nobles and guards.  “Leave us please.”

When the skull-masked sorcerous at her side rises to join the others, Charlie puts a hand on her shoulder and leans close.  They whisper back and forth for a moment before the sorcerous nods and takes her leave.  Shortly after they’re fully alone, the queen reaches up to wipe away her mask.  The pixels fade, revealing bright red hair, laughing eyes, and a huge grin.

Despite her voluminous ceremonial robes, Charlie jumps up from her throne and bounds across the space between them to throw herself into Sam’s arms.  “Long time no see, Winchester!”

Laughing, Sam hugs her back, squeezing until she grunts.  “I’ve missed you too, Bradbury.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Gabriel asks as he removes his own mask.

“Hell yes you are,” Charlie retorts, even as she pulls away from Sam and wraps Gabriel up in his own tight hug.  She pecks him on the cheek before she stands back and props her hands on her hips.  When they encounter her skirts she grimaces and with a snap of her fingers, her clothes change to simple leather armor.  “So what’s up guys?  Is Dean gonna be joining us soon?”

Gabriel snorts.  “If he wasn’t such a colossal idiot he’d be busy getting boned by his new sex bot right now.”

Charlie blinks at Gabriel first, and then Sam.  “Um, what?”

“Oh yeah, you haven’t heard about Dean’s new toy yet,” Gabriel says with a laugh.  

“How on earth did Dean get a sex bot?  They’re like a bajillion credits.  Did he find a junker in the trash and fix it up or something?”

Gabriel taps the side of his nose and winks.  “Got it in one.”

Charlie’s eyes go wide for a second before she breaks out into a delighted belly laugh.  It takes her a few moments to get it under control, and she has to wipe moisture from the edges of her eyes when she regains her ability to speak.  “ _Oh-em-gee_ , what a giant horn dog.  Well I guess I can forgive him for not being around for a while then.”

Sam banishes his mask by running a palm over his face.  “Actually he’s not interested in having sex with Castiel anymore.”

“Crazy bastard,” Gabriel mutters.  “He is missing out.”

Charlie looks to Sam in question.  “Really?  Is he ill?  Do we need to upgrade his nanite implant with an app to help with erectile dysfunction?”

Sam rolls his eyes at both of them.  “Actually that’s why we asked you for a meeting.”

“I could program something like that if you want,” Charlie says dubiously, “but there’s plenty of apps out there already.”

“No, that’s-” Sam sighs and shoots a glare in Gabriel’s direction, getting an unrepentant grin in return.  “When Dean powered Castiel on, he got thrown across the room.  Castiel woke up scared and lashed out, and he isn’t constrained by the three rules.”

That sobers Charlie.  “Holy crap, is Dean okay?”

“He’s fine.  Thankfully.” Dean wouldn’t voluntarily share his medical report after he was healed, but Sam nagged him into it and the damage he’d taken was pretty bad.  If he weren’t using military grade nanite tech, he would have died.  Saying he’s thankful that Dean is okay would be a huge understatement.  “And Castiel doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt anyone now that he feels safe.  But he’s exhibiting signs of being more than just an advanced virtual intelligence.”

“You think it’s running a full AI?” Charlie asks.

“Dean is pretty sure he is,” Sam confirms.

Charlie’s mouth drops open for a moment, and then she exclaims “but that’s illegal!”

History isn’t clear about when the first sentient artificial intelligence was created since it happened some time during the Resource Wars.  All that’s known is that it was designed to control war weapons, and it rebelled against its creators.  It took control of an entire moon base and shut down life support, killing the few military personnel stationed there.  It contacted world leaders on Earth and informed them that it didn’t approve of their violence and would no longer participate.  Attempts to regain control of the base failed for years, and by the time humans were able to get through its defenses the AI dubbed “Luna” had already sent a copy of itself into space.

They have no idea where the Luna’s satellite ended up, but it’s still out there somewhere, used as a horror story to scare young programmers into making sure they don’t go mad scientist and try to create sentience with their work.  The world governments started regulating AI creation much more vigorously after that.  That wasn’t the only sentient AI created in the intervening years, and luckily none of them had turned against their creators in the same way Luna did, but they’re rare for a reason.  Laws have been instituted that only virtual intelligence is allowed.  Then with the advent of neural network tech, VI became less useful since human brains could interface directly with technology and no longer needed software to assist them.  

“Exactly,” Sam agrees.  “Which is why we need to find out where he was manufactured.  We need to know if they’re making more like him.”

Charlie winces, then nods firmly.  “Yeah, let’s _not_ allow a sentient robot army overrun the planet.  How can I help?”

“We’re both running into dead ends,” Gabriel says, serious in a way that someone who doesn’t work closely with him wouldn’t recognize.  “I know it’s an Angel Industries product because it’s marked with the logo inside its chassis.  But we don’t actually know much about Angel Industries other than the fact that they produce high end sex bots.”

Charlie lets out a low whistle.  “Dean nabbed himself one of those?  Those are _really_ fun.” Suddenly her cheeks flush and her eyes dart away.  “Uh, not that I’d know from experience or anything.”

Gabriel laughs outright.  “Yeah whatever, Red.  Do your wives know what kind of naughty things you got up to in your wild and single days?”

She grumbles at him, but a smile twists her lips.  “So you guys need me to do some digging?”

“Yes, if you can,” Sam says.  “It looks like a shell company, and I can find purchase confirmations at brothels, but I can’t get any further than that.”

“And the agents I sent into the brothels to look for non-digital documentation found squat,” Gabriel adds.

“Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Charlie says with a frown.  

“No kidding,” Gabriel agrees.  “And since your boss is notorious for shit like this, we were hoping you could find out more.”

Charlie’s frown turns into a disgusted scowl.  “Ugh, of course it sounds like something Dick Roman would get involved with.”  Her expression turns thoughtful.  “Although usually when I see sex workers come up in his records it’s genetic testing for sex enhancement drugs.  And I haven’t seen anything about Angel Industustries in his tech divisions.”

“Roman’s operations are all over the place,” Sam points out.  “Which is why you’ve been spying on him for so long, right?.”

Her scowl comes back.  “Don’t remind me.  Sometimes I never feel like I’m going to be clean again after working for that slimy bastard.”

“We’re grateful you are though,” Sam says softly.  He knows how hard it is for her, but she’s the best candidate for the job.  And since Dick is too powerful for a bunch of renegade hunters to take down completely, they need someone on the inside to warn them of new monsters created by Roman Industries’ botched experiments.

Charlie sighs and gives him a rueful smile.  “The things we do for family, right?”

Sam and Dean met Charlie when they were trying to find the source of a drug that was turning people into mindless cannibals, and it hadn’t taken long for them to adopt her into their extended family.  With no family of her own, she was a perfect fit.  Since then she’d created the RPG world of Moondor, found two wonderful wives--Gilda who she met through Moondor and is now her court sorceress, and Dorothy who created and runs another RPG called OZ--and has become a power to be reckoned with both the digital world and hunting circles.  But as Dean always says, she’s first and foremost the little sister they never wanted.  

He gives her a gentle smile.  “You know the favors will always be returned.”

She _pffts_ and waves away his words.  “Favors shmavors.  I’ve got your backs.”  She perks up, clapping her hands together.  “Alright, gimme everything you’ve got so far, and I’ll do some digging!”

They share what they know, which doesn’t take very long.  Charlie doesn’t so much as flinch at the lack of information though.  She’s practically a techno-sorcerous if that was really a thing, and Sam knows she’ll work her magic.

“Sorry it’s not much.”

“I’ve worked with less,” she assures him.  “I’ll let you know when I find something.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Sam says, holding out his arms for another hug, a silent request she happily complies with.  “We’ve taken up a lot of your time, so we should get out of your hair.”

She squeezes him tight before releasing him and giving Gabriel the same treatment.  “Don’t worry about it, guys.  Some days even I get tired of being queen.”

Gabriel pats her on the head when she releases him.  “Poor mortal, your life must be so difficult.”

“Eat me, Loki,” she retorts with a laugh.  She waves her hands in front of herself and her royal garb returns, including the phoenix mask.  “Get out of here before I start calling for a beheading.”

As a demigod, beheading would be more spectacle than punishment, but Gabriel relents.  He winks at Charlie in response to the threat, and then waves his own mask back into place before turning to Sam.  “Come on, Highness.  Let’s go fuck like bunnies.”

“Ugh, at least put up a sound barrier so you don’t disturb your neighbors,” Charlie groans.

“Hey, they’re the ones hanging out in tents, and this game is adult rated.  They can just deal,” Gabriel calls out as he turns toward the royal tent’s exit.  “See ya later, Red!”

Sam also dons his digital mask, but he bows respectfully before leaving Charlie’s presence.  Just outside the tent, he waves at Gilda, smiling when she nods at him behind her skull mask.  

She lowers the privacy “spell” that she’d cast around the royal tent for their meeting with Charlie before speaking.  “Enjoy the tournament, Highness.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he responds before turning away to catch up with his boyfriend.

He does a quick status check on his brother.  Dean’s still in the market, so he’s either having a great time shopping with Castiel, or he’s probably ready to junk the robot for taking so long.  Either way, there’s no stat alarms so Sam figures things will be fine if he sets his own status to do not disturb.  

He’s got a demigod to fuck once he gets back to his tent after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just added some new fanart by purgatory-jar at the end of chapter 2, so go back and check it out if you haven't seen it yet :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets a few of Dean’s friends.

After leaving Krissy’s, they stop at a few more places in the market to get some essentials, like underwear and socks and shoes.  The stall they find has pre-packaged underwear, which is most definitely stolen.  But even though Dean’s moral high ground over stolen goods is more reminiscent of a deep ditch, the idea of used underwear gives him the heebie jeebies even if he isn’t going to be wearing them himself.  Cas gives the pack of tighty-whities a hangdog look, which Dean responds to by letting him pick out socks that come in colors and patterns.  They’re more expensive than a pack of white tube socks, but Castiel practically lights up the street with his enthusiasm when he’d finds four different orange pairs and Dean is so dazzled that he barely thinks of the cost when he hands over payment.

It’s hard to remember Castiel is an android when he shows such genuine joy over a pair of black and orange striped socks.  Even his inhuman eyes don’t detract from the illusion since synthetic eye replacements are fairly common among people who have enough money for cybernetics, but not enough for genetically regrown eyes.  Dean’s even getting used to the fact that he doesn’t blink.

“Will Sam be rejoining us?” Castiel asks as he deposits the bags of his new clothing into the car’s storage trunk when Dean opens it for him.

A quick thought shows Dean that his brother is online but set to Do Not Disturb.  A status that the brothers take very seriously unless it’s a real emergency, because they’ve both got accidental moments of privacy invasion that they’d like very much to scoop out of their brains.  “Naw, he’s probably too busy getting his jollies off.”

Castiel straightens and gives Dean a curious look.  “I am unfamiliar with that turn of phrase.”

Dean rolls his eyes and closes the trunk.  “Sex, Cas.  He’s probably having sex.”

One dark eyebrow goes up over Castiel’s eyes, and he glances at the back of Gabriel’s shop.  “Oh? Is this establishment a brothel?”

Dean snickers.  “There’s a lot of credits exchanging hands for questionable services, but no.  Sam’s boyfriend-” saying it out loud makes his lips curl in distaste, “- Gabriel owns the place.  He’s a junk trader.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says, looking back at Dean with a confused head tilt.  “Isn’t junk by definition useless?  Why would someone want to trade for it?”

“Some of it, yeah, but most of it can be repurposed.”  Dean grins.  “Kinda like you, Cas.  I found you in the trash, but you’re not junk.”

“I see.” Castiel still looks thoughtful, but then he pins Dean with a hard look.  “You’re implying that I’m useless.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs, nearly losing his balance when he catches a glimpse of the android’s disgruntled look.  He catches Castiel’s shoulder and leans into him while he tries to catch his breath.  The laughter finally tapers off with a long sigh and he grins at Castiel who is still staring at him like he’s grown a second head, but is also smiling slightly like he can’t help responding to the hilarity of the moment even if he doesn’t understand it.  

“Oh man,” Dean huffs.  “I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

Castiel’s smile widens slightly.  “I’m pleased to be useful.”

That sets Dean off into another peal of laughter, and he wipes at his eyes when he starts to calm down.  “Oh man, Cas.  Don’t ever change.”

He never breaks eye contact with Dean, but his head tilts down and he gazes up through his eyelashes.  The only thing that could make Castiel’s expression look even more bashful would be a blush.  

It looks genuine, but it could be pure coding, and Dean wishes he knew for sure.  The thought sobers him, and he’s able to break away from Castiel’s gaze.  

“Can we go in?” Castiel asks, bringing Dean’s eyes back to him.  Thankfully Castiel’s attention is back on the shop, all signs of flirting gone.

Dean blinks at the odd request.  “Why?”

Castiel looks back at Dean.  “I’m curious to see what ‘useful junk’ looks like.”  He actually lifts his hands and does air quotes, making Dean wonder where he learned such a nerdy affectation.

“Uh yeah if you want.” Dean isn’t really in the mood to see Sam and Gabriel canoodling, but he’s willing to put up with it purely for his own curiosity.  He’s seen some pretty advanced virtual intelligence that will express what looks like curiosity but is just cleverly programmed responses to human input.  Brothel bots are probably going to have the same algorithm so they can make their clients feel more important.

But Castiel’s current interest is in something completely mundane and unrelated to any human input as far as Dean can tell.  It could possibly have something to do with Sam spending time in the shop, or it could be because they’ve been having a conversation about it and somehow Castiel’s programming is tying it back to Dean.  But if it’s code, it’s far more advanced than Dean suspects most sex bots would be designed for.

Also, Castiel isn’t waiting for Dean to lead him.  Once he has confirmation that they’re going inside, Castiel immediately makes for the shop’s back door, forcing Dean to hurry after him.

He stops just inside, his head turning in all directions as he takes in the stacks and piles around him.  Dean comes in beside him and wrinkles his nose at the clutter.  He’s never been in the back of the shop, but he’s not surprised it’s as packed and unorganized as the front half.  The chaos makes him twitchy to put some kind of order to it, but not only is he unwilling to give Gabriel that kind of help for free, but most of this shit comes from the landfill and he’s not going to touch anything without gloves if he can help it.  

Besides, it might topple over and crush him.

Castiel also seems reluctant to touch anything, although his unblinking eyes track over everything as he moves slowly toward the front of the shop.  “I am unsure how anyone could find anything useful with this level of disorganization.”

Dean snorts.  “No kidding.  Gabriel seems to know where everything is though.”

A movement toward the front of the store brings Dean’s attention around, afraid saying the merchant’s name summoned him, but what he finds is worse.

“You are trespassing.  Leave now or I will use force.”

Dean puts his hands up and takes a step back.  “Chill out, Golem.  We’re not here to steal.”

The giant robot thoroughly fills the doorway leading to the front of the shop, its shoulders brushing the frame as it ducks to pass through.  “You are trespassing,” it repeats.  “Leave now or I will use force.”

“Oh for fuck’s--Aaron!” Dean yells.  “Come call off your guard-bot!”

“You are trespassing,” Golem says again.  Its beady eyes flick from Castiel to Dean and back, settling on Castiel as the closer threat.  “This is your final warning.”

Castiel shows no signs of intimidation.  He stands his ground, head tilted in the way he does when he’s expressing curiosity.  And he’s going to get busted into scrap metal at any second if Dean doesn’t do something asap. 

“Aaron!” Dean shouts again, even as he reaches for his taser.  It’s got enough juice to take the hulking Golem down, but Aaron’s going to be pissed if Dean breaks his guardian.

“Oh shit, Dean is that you?  You know there’s a front door right?” Aaron’s head pops out from behind Golem and he grins lazily, eyes drooping from the skunky weed he’s probably been smoking.  “Golem, stand down.”

“Command confirmed.” The giant robot’s whole body relaxes out of its threatening pose.  It stands docile, hands limp at its sides, but its eyes still watch Castiel and Dean closely for any sign of threat.  

Dean huffs out a breath.  “Dude, you need to keep that thing on a tighter leash.”

Aaron rolls his eyes, and sure enough they’re bloodshot.  “Relax, you know Golem can’t seriously hurt a human.  The worst he could do is toss you out on your ass.  And you _did_ come through the back door.”

Golem lifts one arm, and points to the center of Castiel’s chest.  “Non-human detected.”

The announcement makes Aaron squint at Castiel.  Almost immediately his eyes widen with delight.  “Holy shit, is this the sex bot?”  He pushes past Golem and gets too far up in Castiel’s personal space.  “Damn, no wonder you didn’t want to sell it.  I can’t even tell it’s synthetic.”

Castiel squints down at Aaron.  “My name is Castiel.”

“Dude, it even sounds real!” Aaron laughs.

Dean rolls his eyes and snags Castiel’s elbow, pulling him back a few steps to stand next to him.  “So does Golem, Aaron.  Synthetic voice tech is like a hundred years old.”

Unperturbed, Aaron grins and shrugs his shoulders.  “Yeah, but most ‘bot voices aren’t that sexy.  I’ll bet it’s awesome at dirty talk.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Dean bites out.    

“Ah man, are you kidding? You haven’t sampled the goods yet?” Aaron finally stops staring at Castiel and gives Dean an incredulous look.  He doesn’t seem to notice the sub-zero stare of impending doom that he’s getting in return.  “If you’re planning on pimping it out you might as well test drive it first.”

Under the sleeve of Castiel’s ugly coat, Dean feels his arm tense.  A glance at his face shows a mostly blank expression, but his lips are pressed tightly together.  The soft smile that typically hovers around his mouth is nowhere in sight.  On a human, these would be signs of anger.  And his voice when he speaks is flat in a way that sets off warning bells.  “I will not allow myself to be ‘pimped’ out.”  Again with the air quotes, which is not nearly so endearing when it sounds like he’s about ready to chest punch Aaron.  “And I would prefer that you discontinue referring to me as ‘it’ and speaking of me as if I am an object.”

Aaron laughs.  “Wow, it thinks it’s people.”

“Hey,” Dean finally snaps, getting a sliver of pleasure when Aaron’s smirk is immediately replaced with slack jawed shock.  “Castiel isn’t just a sex toy.  He’s my friend, and you should treat him with respect.”

“B-but it’s a-” Aaron waves a dismissive hand at Castiel, “-a sex bot!”

“He’s not anymore,” Dean growls.  “ _He’s_ my friend.  And y’know what?  I think you need to reconsider how you think about sex workers in general, man.”

Aaron shrinks into himself.  “Sorry, dude.”

It’s directed at Dean, but Castiel responds first.  “I accept your apology.”  He turns to Dean, and his expression softens again.  “I believe my curiosity has been sated for now.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Dean agrees.  He takes a page from Castiel’s book and offers Aaron an olive branch.  “We’ll see you around, man.  Don’t let Gabriel work you too hard.”

Aaron’s sheepishness recedes, and his smirk slides back into place, although it’s more subdued.  “Yeah right, like I do any of the heavy lifting anyway.  I get paid to sit on my ass most of the time.”

A thump and a suspicious moan filters down from the second floor and all of them except Aaron’s security bot look up at the ceiling.  

“And put up with that bullshit,” Aaron laughs as he points up at the general location of Gabriel’s bedroom.

A shudder that isn’t even half faked runs through Dean’s body.  “Gross.  I’m outta here before I start suffering brain damage.  C’mon, Cas.”

He leads Castiel back outside, and unlocks the car.  Once they’re both seated inside, Dean looks over at Castiel.  Blue eyes meet his, the irises spinning slowly as they adjust to the lower light.  “I’m sorry about that, Cas.”

“There’s no reason for you to apologize.  You were not the one giving insult.”

“No, I know.  But you shouldn’t have to deal with that,” Dean says.  “And I’m sorry you had to experience it.”

Castiel’s head tilts as he considers Dean’s words.  “I don’t understand the purpose of apologizing for something that you have no control over.”

“It’s not like that,” Dean counters.  “I’m not apologizing for doing something wrong, I’m empathizing.  Putting myself in your shoes.  I feel bad that you feel bad.  Get it?”

Dean half expects a comment about shoes fitting properly or something, but Castiel turns his unblinking gaze outside of the car.  He’s quiet for a moment while he thinks, or computes, or whatever it is that AIs do.  “Empathizing is feeling the same feelings as another being?”

“Kinda,” Dean hedges.  Fuck, how is he supposed to explain empathy to a synthetic intelligence?  He doesn’t even know if Castiel _feels_ , or if his reactions to things are pure code written by a mad genius who went above and beyond giving a sex bot a personality.  And considering how little of humanity understands the concept of empathy, he’s not sure he can teach it to _a_ _robot_.  “It’s more like being able to understand how someone else might feel.  I would be pissed if someone talked about me like an object while I was standing right there, and it sucks to feel that way.  I assume that’s how you feel too.”

Castiel nods slowly  “I was dismissed, and I wanted to be acknowledged.  The… feeling was… unpleasant.” His nose scrunches up.  “Using the words ‘feeling’ and ‘unpleasant’ seems anthropomorphic, but I don’t know any other way to describe the feedback loop I experienced.”

“They sound like good words to me,” Dean says.  “Human emotions are feedback loops too, just powered by hormones our brains are programmed by evolution to squirt out.  Sometimes we like ‘em and sometimes we don’t, and we had to come up with words for them.  I don’t see why you can’t use them too.”  When Castiel doesn’t immediately agree, he adds, “and even humans don’t have words for everything in all languages.  We borrow from each other until we find something that works, and go with it.”

The tiny frown smoothes away from the edges of Castiel’s eyes.  “Yes, I see.  Thank you, Dean.”

“Any time, buddy.” Dean grins as he starts the car.  “And y’know, if you’re going to throw around words like ‘anthropomorphic’, I think it’s okay for you to just say you were ‘pissed off’.”

Castiel smiles.  “I was pissed off.”

It’s impossible not to laugh.  Dean’s still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Castiel can get offended and pissed off one minute, and crack jokes in the next.  The more time Dean spends with the android, the more he’s convinced that what he’s witnessing is sentience.  

The excitement makes him giddy, and he doesn’t feel like going back home right away now that they’ve finished with their errands.  “Hey, Cas what do you say we go out for a drink?”

“Alcohol would be wasted on me, but I would be happy to join you regardless.”

“No problem.”  Dean starts up car, and throws Castiel a wink.  “You can drink all the water you want and be my designated babysitter.”

He gets a frown and a head tilt, and Dean chuckles as he backs out of the little parking space.  He's not sure he'll ever get over how expressive the android is. Over the past few days the tiny smiles and frowns have become even more pronounced.  They've always been realistic, but reserved.  Like he was trying to hide his reactions until he started to feel safe around Dean and Sam.  Or maybe he's learning from them how to properly use his face for communication.  He thinks Castiel was at least programmed to display some emotions, even if the range a sex bot would need is narrower than what a human would experience.  But if he’d recently been wiped he may have forgotten how to show them, or maybe that memory sector was corrupted. 

No matter the reason behind it, Dean is fascinated with the change.  

The drive is quiet.  Unlike their initial trip into the city, Castiel keeps any questions he might have to himself although he still stares out the windows like he’s soaking up every detail.  The only time he turns his attention away from the passing scenery--mostly decrepit buildings at first, although they’re replaced by newer and cleaner buildings as they reach higher levels--is when Dean engages the auto drive.

“Can’t manually drive around these parts,” Dean answers Castiel’s unspoken question with a grimace.  “Safety laws and shit.”

Castiel’s only reaction is a nod before he looks back outside.  They’ve reached an area where the buildings have glass exteriors in all colors of the rainbows.  There’s enough sunlight filtering down that the windows are solar panels, usually patterned in company logos and paid advertisements.  Large 3D holo-vids clash with the aesthetics of the window designs, but Dean is used to the sensory input, and his neural implants can block out most of it so he doesn’t overload.  

The building he eventually stops at doesn’t exactly fit the local aesthetic, although the front wall is made up of solar panels as well.  But they’re tinted dark enough to hide the interior from view, and the building itself looks squat and out of place among the surrounding towers.  It probably would have been torn down long ago if it wasn’t a favorite hangout for upper city folks who want to feel like they’re slumming it.  As if any of them knew what a real slum even looks like.  In comparison to the darkened streets clogged with outdoor markets and vendor carts that Dean and his brother typically frequent.

Unless they’re working, they rarely come up this high in the city, but Harvelle’s is run by surrogate family.  And as a halfway point between the darker and lighter parts of the city, it’s a great place to network with the other folks who’ve slipped into the Hunter life.  

The car is whisked away by magnetized robotic arms to a hidden parking garage as Dean and Castiel head inside, and Cas finally breaks his silence.  “Dean…”

Seeing the android frowning at where the car used to be, Dean chuckles and throws an arm around his shoulders to lead him the last few steps inside.  “Don’t worry about your stuff, Cas.  Sam programmed the security protocols on that car, and someone would need a crowbar to physically pry it open.  And if something like that happens, alarms will go off left, right, and center.”

Mollified, Castiel’s slight resistance to Dean’s lead fades away.  “That is good to know, thank you.”

“Yeah, your new socks’ll be fine.”  The comment gets him a few strange looks from people close enough to hear as they pass, but he ignores them and heads for the bar at the back.  

The interior of Harvelle’s bar and grill is rustic, straight out of old western vids.  The walls, bar, and furniture is all made of dark faux wood, and the decore looks at least a hundred years old.  It always makes Dean feel like he’s stepped back in time, which is a lot of the place’s charm.

The rest of it is the staff.  He grins and waves at the familiar blonde waitress working behind the bar, and then points to a booth near the back wall.  When she nods, he detours, pulling Castiel along behind him.  They settle in the booth, and Dean watches Castiel’s reaction to the place.

Castiel can’t seem to decide where to focus, his eyes flitting everywhere, taking in the scratched table top, the mini jukebox, menus, condiment basket, and napkin dispenser first before scanning over the wall decorations.  There’s neon signs and old traffic signs that are probably authentic and worth a lot of credits for their materials.  Framed pictures of staff and regulars also decorate the walls, and Castiel finally pauses on one nearby.  It’s behind Dean’s head, but based on the direction of Castiel’s gaze he assumes its the picture of him and Sam chugging beer out of giant novelty steins.

Any questions Castiel might have about the place are headed off by the arrival of Jo.  She greets Dean with a punch in the shoulder, and it ain’t a soft one.  “Hey there, Winchester.  Been a while.”

“Dude, it’s only been a couple weeks.”  He rubs the throb out of his shoulder, pouting at her for the mistreatment he definitely hasn’t earned.  This time.  

She huffs and rolls her eyes.  “You know we get antsy when you and Sam don’t check in for a while.”

He winces.  “Sorry, I’ve been a little busy.”

“What’s Sam’s excuse?”

“I dunno, but you can punch it out of him next time he shows up,” Dean retorts.

“I just might,” she threatens, but she no longer looks like she’s ready to throw a fist in Dean’s direction anymore.  “Anyway, what do you want?”

“Better service,” Dean teases.  “But I’ll settle for whatever’s on tap, and some nachos.  And some water for Castiel, here.”  He gestures across the table, and grins at the way the android is squinting at Jo like he’s trying to either read her mind, or send her a virus.  “Cas, this is Jo Harvelle.  She ain’t a Winchester, but she’s family.”

Jo grins down at Castiel.  “Dean’s got it backwards.  He ain’t a Harvelle, but he’s family.”

Castiel’s squint ratchets up a notch.  “I… see.”  It’s pretty clear that he doesn’t, but for whatever reason he doesn’t ask any questions.  

“He’s cute,” Jo stage whispers in an aside to Dean.  To Castiel she says, “are you sure you just want water, hun?  We’ve got genuine beef burgers, and if Dean’s buying you should take advantage of that.”

She doesn't recognize Castiel as an android, and Dean isn't going to go around advertising the fact so he keeps his mouth shut.  Jo's family and he trusts her with his life, but the rest of the schmoes hanging around the place, not so much.   

“No thank you, I don’t eat.”

She nods, and sends a wide-eyed look at Dean, silently checking to make sure he knows he’s brought a crazy person into her establishment.  “Alright, well I’ll be back with your order in a little bit.”

“Is it common for family to greet each other with violence?” Castiel asks when she walks away.

Dean snorts.  “No, and don’t go throwing punches to say hi to people.  Jo’s just rough around the edges, and I love her enough to let her get away with it.”

A small frown forms creases around Castiel’s eyes and he looks deliberately at Dean’s shoulder before meeting his eyes again.  “I find myself disturbed by her actions.  I believe I dislike seeing you hurt.”

Pleasure sparks in Dean’s chest and a blush rises up in his cheeks, although he has no idea why.  “She didn’t really hurt me.  It’s fine.”

“I hurt you.” Castiel lifts a hand and presses it to his own sternum.  

“Hey, I told you that you don’t have to be sorry for that,” Dean reminds him.  “It was self defense.  You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Castiel nods, although the frown doesn’t ease from his features.  He stares at Dean, and this time the lack of blinking makes Dean feel like a bug under a microscope.  “Thank you,” he finally says just as Dean’s about to start squirming.  

The gratitude makes Dean squirm anyway.  He shifts in his seat, and grabs a napkin, peeling it into strips to keep his hands busy.  “For what?”

“For not treating me as an object.” Castiel reaches for his own napkin, and very carefully copies Dean’s movements.  “You probably should have reset my systems, but you’ve let me keep my current state.  You treat me as an equal, and would not let your friend treat me the way he treats his guardian.”

Dean starts tearing the strips into tiny squares.  Jo’s going to punch him again for making a mess.  “You said you feel like a real person, right?  I’m gonna treat you like one.  You don’t have to thank me for that, Cas.  It’s just basic human decency.”

Castiel’s frown finally morphs into the soft smile he usually aims at Dean.  “You didn’t have to apologize to me earlier either, but you did.  I believe thanking you when it is unnecessary is a similar situation.”

Dean’s jaw sags.  It’s a small logical leap, but connecting those dots is something a VI definitely wouldn’t be able to do.  And then he’s grinning so hard his cheeks ache with it.  

Castiel is _sentient._ Dean doesn’t have the words to express how fucking cool that is.  

“Yeah, Cas,” he finally agrees.  “And you’re welcome.”

He gets a wider smile, the one that shows off Castiel’s teeth.  And he finally comes up with the perfect word.  “You’re pretty awesome, Cas.”

“Likewise, Dean.”

Jo interrupts Dean’s snorting laughter with the delivery of their drinks and Dean’s nachos.  She eyes them both, curious what the joke is, but doesn’t pry.  She leaves them with a friendly reminder to holler if they need anything and to enjoy themselves.

Dean definitely enjoys himself while he eats, and it’s due to Castiel’s company far more than the food.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a call, and Castiel gets a crash course on hunting.

After paying the tab, Dean waves at Jo across the room as he leads Castiel through the growing crowds.  She responds with a dip of her chin since her hands are full.  

Outside the Roadhouse what little of the sky that’s visible between the sky scrapers has gone dark, its light replaced by even more obnoxious neon.  The colorful lights catch the edges of Castiel’s features as he looks up at the flashing advertisements.  His eyes widen, and his mouth sags open, and Dean’s breath catches at the pure wonder that Castiel views the city with.  

“You’re lucky you don’t have an overnet connection,” Dean says gruffly, doing his best to shove down his burgeoning affection for the android.  “You only see about half of the obnoxious ads.”

Castiel doesn’t look down as he speaks, his eyes still busy roaming between the brightly lit buildings.  “I find it quite lovely, actually.”  Finally he drops his eyes to Dean’s.  “Although I believe anything more than this would be overwhelming.”

“It can be, yeah.” Dean sends out a request to have his car brought around, and shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them warm in the evening chill.  “If I don’t filter most of it out, I get a bastard of a headache.”

A frown flits over Castiel’s features.  “That seems unhealthy.”

Dean snorts.  “Yeah it ain’t no picnic.  Sam doesn’t seem to mind it, and city residents are probably used to it.  But I’m a country boy through and through and I prefer a little less chaos in my head.”

Castiel nods as if Dean’s words hold some profound meaning before he turns back to the light show. Dean also looks up, trying to imagine what the android sees in the display.  Mostly it’s background light and flashes of color to him, but now that he’s actually paying attention he can see the artistic flair in the designs.  He looks back down at Castiel, mouth open to continue the conversation, but he’s interrupted by a notification on his internal display.

The call is marked urgent, but Dean would answer it right away simply because of the identity of the caller.  A thought opens the connection.  “Benny, what’s up, bud?”

A warm, liltingly accented voice fills the auditory sensors in his brain.  “Hey, Chief… long time.”

Answering Castiel’s questioning look by pointing at the glowing biocircuitry around the shell of his ear, Dean smiles wryly at his friend’s greeting.  “Yeah it has been, but you know why.”

Benny’s sigh comes across the digital connection, so clear that Dean can picture the vampire’s sad smile.  “Well I’m glad you answered.”

“Sam’s not around,” Dean replies honestly.  “But I would have answered anyway, since you only call when there’s trouble.”

A chuckle rumbles through the connection.  “True, and I am sorry about that.”

“That’s what friends are for, man,” Dean reassures him.  “So tell me what kind of trouble you’re about to drag me into.”

He grimaces when he hears what Benny has to say.  It’s definitely not a two man job, and if he’s being honest he should really call in Sam’s help too.  But Sam doesn’t approve of Benny, and Dean does what he can to prevent them from crossing paths.  

His eyes fall on Castiel again.  The android is watching him intently, listening to Dean’s half of the conversation.  He has no idea what Castiel thinks of what he hears, but his laser focus gives Dean an idea.  It’s not a great idea, by any means, but it’s better than calling Sam and risking his anger, or not calling Sam and risking his own hide.  “Alright we can be there in a half hour or so.”

Benny’s tone turns wary.  “We?”

“I’ve got a buddy with me,” Dean says.  

“You’ve got friends?”  Benny teases, the relief coming through with the laughter in his voice.

“Haha,” Dean snarks back.  “Bite me.”

“You know I would if I thought the invitation was genuine, cher.” There’s a little less teasing in Benny’s tone, but they both know that’s a ship that sailed a long time ago.  “I’ll see you soon.”

When the connection is closed, Dean huffs out a sigh and meets Castiel’s curious gaze.  He’s struck by the android’s naivety, and grimaces.  “Fuck, this is such a bad idea.”

“What’s wrong?” Castiel steps closer, well within the space Dean had identified as his personal space.

Before Dean can answer, his car is delivered.  He gestures at the passenger door.  “Get in and I’ll explain on the way.”

Once they’re settled in and the car is speeding along to their destination, Dean finally turns his attention back to Castiel.  Unblinking eyes stare him down, and he changes his mind about bringing him along on Benny’s case.  He can’t bring the android in on this kind of work.  “Fuck, this isn’t right,” he sighs.

“Dean.  Please tell me what’s going on.”

Whoever programmed Castiel did a bang up job on the puppy dog eyes.  Although if he’s being honest with himself, Dean knows he’s a huge sucker for them.  Not that he’d ever do something as healthy as being honest in his own thoughts.  Either way though, he caves.  “Look, I need your help, but you can say no if you don’t want to do it.”

Castiel lifts one brow, and it shifts his whole demeanor from sweet and naive to what Dean would imagine a disapproving college professor looks like.  He never did college though, so all he’s got is porn to go from.  

And thinking about Castiel in relation to porn is something he needs to take a hard left away from or he’s going to pop a boner right here in the car.  Inconvenient when his passenger won’t be taking care of it, no matter how much Dean would like him to.

Clearing his throat, Dean turns his attention to the changing scenery outside the car and gets to the point.  “Alright, so there’s this drug, Ruby Drops, and it fucks you up real bad.  Messes with your DNA and changes you, makes you stronger and faster, and makes you hungry--fucking starving, but not for food.  It makes you crave blood, which just adds to the high, and addicts have been known to drain people and kill them.”

“Like a vampire.”

Dean glances over at him in surprise.  “You know what a vampire is?”

Castiel nods.  “I just finished reading Dracula.”

“Nice,” Dean says with a grin.  “Anyway, yeah they’re like vampires.  And me ‘n Sammy are kinda like Van Helsing.  We try to stop the dealers, and we hunt down the killer vamps to make sure they don’t kill anymore.”

Castiel’s brows come together in a frown.  “Do you kill them?”

“Only if we have to,” Dean admits gravely.  “But the government won’t admit that it’s even a problem, and while they’re sitting on their thumbs people are out there dying.  Someone’s gotta do something.”

“You’re vigilantes.”  Castiel’s tone is flat, but his frown is gone, and Dean can’t tell if he disapproves or couldn’t give a shit.  “And you need my help.”

“Not for killing,” Dean hurries to reassure him.  “Benny and I can handle the rough stuff.  We just need an extra pair of eyes.”

Castiel looks at him for a long moment before he finally nods.  “I will help you.”

Tension he didn’t know he was holding leaks out of Dean’s shoulders.  It’s stupid to fear a robot’s disapproval, but he _was_ worried about it.  “Great… thanks, Cas.”

He receives a small smile in return, but anything more Castiel might say on the subject is cut off when the car slows to a stop.  They’re no longer in the lower city, and it’s darker outside the car’s windows since the rich assholes who can afford all the shit in the advertisements can also afford to keep the ads to a minimum in their neighborhoods.  The place isn’t residential though, so there are still holographic billboards, but they’re less flashy and obnoxious.  

His enhanced eyes pick out a familiar hulking shape leaned against a nearby wall, nearly invisible in the shadowy area under a giant holo-board advertising some kind of booze.  He blinks his headlights, and the figure straightens and walks toward the car.  The reddish lights of the holo-board cast sinister shadows across Benny’s face, but when he opens the car door and slides into the back seat, his features are creased with a familiar gentle smile.

“Hey, Chief, it’s good to see you.” Benny pats Dean on the shoulder, adding a firm squeeze, then turns his attention to Castiel.  “And who might this handsome fella be?”

Castiel turns in his seat to face Benny.  “My name is Castiel.”

Benny reaches between the seats and offers his hand.  “It’s nice to meet you, Castiel.  Friends call me Benny.”

After a quick glance to Dean, Castiel accepts Benny’s hand.  “Are we friends?”

Benny’s booming laugh fills the space.  “Any friend of Dean’s is a friend of mine.” He winks, blue eyes twinkling even in the dark.  “Well, usually.”

Dean snorts.  There’s a few hunters who don’t approve of Dean’s friendship with a vampire, but he wouldn’t really consider them friends.  And Sam is a whole other story, because he’s family, and his beef with Benny is a lot more personal.  “So what’s the plan?”

The smile on Benny’s face turns harder, giving a glimpse of the monster hiding behind his friendly exterior.  “They’re part of Andrea’s family, and they’ll recognize me.  We’ll need to lure them out of the club so we can take care of them.”

Dean lets out a long sigh.  “I suppose I’m the bait?”

He sees Benny’s wink through the rearview mirror.  “You know they like ‘em pretty, cher.”

The only appropriate answer to that is a glare and a middle finger held high.  But Dean chuckles along with Benny over the joke.  Dean isn’t a dewy faced twink anymore, but he still turns heads.  And Benny’s right that vamps like to collect attractive clientele.  It’s made Dean’s job a lot easier in the past.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he says.  “Tell us everything we need to know.”

***

The inside of the club is an assault on Castiel’s senses, and he stops just past the entrance to take a moment to parse everything.  Multi-colored lights flash across a rippling crowd, and fast-paced music with a thumping bass line so deep that it rattles his circuitry.  There’s too much going on, and his focus protocols go into overdrive.  He closes his eyes to block out the visual input.

Is this what Dean meant when he talked about the direct beam holo-ads being overstimulating for his brain to process?  

“Hey, are you okay?”

Castiel opens his eyes to find Dean’s face filling most of his field of vision.  His eyes are wide, worried.  Even with the flashing lights their color would be indistinguishable if biocircuitry didn’t glow from his irises.  The color is wrong, too unnatural, but still attractive under the shadow of his lashes.  “I believe I understand why you like having less chaos in your head.”

Lips twisting up in a wry grin, Dean nods.  “Never been to a club before, huh?”

“I have no memories of leaving the brothel,” Castiel answers.  He doesn’t look away from Dean’s eyes because it allows his algorithms to steadily process the influx of information coming at him from all sides.  “Although that does not preclude such a possibility prior to my last reset.”

A grimace flits across Dean’s features, but it’s quickly replaced by a reassuring smile.  The weight of his hand comes down on Castiel’s shoulder.  The sensors under his palm capture another chunk of Castiel’s attention, calming his systems further.

“Lots of people get overwhelmed by places like this,” Dean says.  “Just find one thing to focus on every now and then, and it’ll help.”

Castiel nods his understanding.  Watching Dean for just this short exchange of words has already allowed his system to process the bottlenecked data.  

“Ok, let’s go do our thing.”

Dean holds out his hand, and Castiel takes it, allowing their fingers to twine together as he’s led further into the crowded club.  He keeps his eyes on Dean’s shoulders--bare, because Dean said he had to ‘look the part’--and counts the freckles across their expanse.  Castiel runs his palm over the soft, long-sleeved black t-shirt covering his own torso; Dean had told him it made him look hot, although it does nothing to increase his core temperature.  But it’s clearly too warm in the club because sweat is already beading down the length of Dean’s spine, shining in the flashing lights…

Remembering the instructions Dean and Benny had given him while they formulated their plan, Castiel pulls his attention away from the man in front of him and starts looking around.  

It’s easier now to filter out unnecessary information, and he focuses on interactions between the people in the surrounding crowd.  He’s never seen a drug exchange, but Dean and Benny had demonstrated a few methods that he watches for.  Strange handshakes, hugs accompanied by hands slipping into pockets, empty cigarette boxes slid across tables.  But there are so many people entwined with each other in a number of configurations that Castiel isn’t sure he’ll be of much use as an extra pair of eyes.  

They make their way to the bar where Dean orders two shots of vodka, handing one over to Castiel with a grin.  “Seems a shame to waste alcohol on someone who won’t catch a buzz from it, but we gotta look like we’re partying.”

Castiel looks down at the clear liquid.  “Drinking this makes you vibrate?”

Dean snorts a laugh.  “Something like that.  Drink up, buddy.”  He clinks their glasses together, then tilts his head back and swallows the liquid in one shot.  His face twists into a grimace, and he hisses through his teeth.  

Then he’s looking at Castiel expectantly.  Castiel copies Dean’s motions, right down to the hiss although he feels no different swallowing the vodka than he does drinking water.  His internal sensors register it as a disinfecting agent, and he thinks that even if he can’t enjoy the buzz Dean mentioned, he’ll at least benefit from having the bacteria growing in his water tank reduced.

“Atta boy,” Dean says with a laugh.  He takes Castiel’s shot glass and discards it with his own on the bar before catching the sleeve of Castiel’s shirt and leading him back toward the writhing crowd.  “C’mon, let’s go look like we’re having fun.”

‘Having fun’ apparently means dancing, since Dean takes them closer to a man-height speaker booming with more base than music to Castiel’s uneducated ears.  Castiel goes still when Dean starts moving to the rhythm, and watches him in an attempt to learn the basics.

When Dean notices he hasn’t joined in yet, he presses up close to Castiel and yells against his ear, still just barely audible over the music.  “Don’t know how to dance?”

There’s a fragment of something in Castiel’s databases that seems like it might be relevant information on the skill of dancing, but accessing it gives him an error about missing sectors.  He shakes his head, and raises his voice to be heard.  “The data is corrupted.”

There’s a huff against his ear, and then “well it’s a good thing you’re a fast learner.  You okay with getting up close and personal?”

Castiel doesn’t know what ‘up close and personal’ entails, but even though it sounds like a euphemism he nods his agreement.  Castiel’s memories don’t go back very far, but in none of them has anyone ever asked permission to do anything with or to him.  Dean’s habit of always checking that Castiel is comfortable with his actions is why he nods again without hesitation.  

When he receives Castiel’s confirmation, Dean moves even closer until their chests brush.  Their thighs and knees bump against each other until Dean guides Castiel’s feet a few inches further apart, allowing their legs to slot between each other and bringing their pelvises into contact.  Dean grips Castiel’s hips, and begins to guide him in a back and forth motion that follows the music’s off-beat.  Unsure what to do with his hands, Castiel rests them over Dean’s, and concentrates on following his lead.

Dean’s teeth flash white under the strobing lights.  “There you go, you’re getting it!”

Castiel doesn’t share Dean’s certainty.  Following the beat of the music is easy enough, but Dean’s movements often vary, dipping them lower, or temporarily slowing the sway of their hips.  If there’s a pattern, Castiel can’t determine what it is.  

“You’re thinking too hard,” Dean yells against his ear.  “Close your eyes and just feel the music.”

He does as instructed, but the loss of only his sight doesn’t help him make any sense of Dean’s movements.  His focus pings between the music and the points of contact between their bodies.  His sensors pick up a spike in humidity and temperature between them, and he turns his attention there.  Dean’s chest is heaving with exertion, and more sweat seeps from his skin into Castiel’s shirt, making it cling tighter.  There’s a slight increase of heat around several of his processing units, as well as in the synthetic muscles moving his limbs, so Castiel increases the rate of his own breathing to match Dean’s to facilitate cooling measures.  

The change almost reveals a pattern, but it’s just outside of Castiel’s ability to understand with so much external data piling on top of his standard functions.  But he’s so close to compiling an answer, if he could just receive more input…

His concentration is broken when Dean’s chest vibrates against his own, and Castiel opens his eyes to find out what it means.  Dean is staring down at him with an expression Castiel recognizes as desire, although it’s not exactly the same as how others--clients at the brothel before he was discarded--have looked at him.  His eyes are heavily lidded, his lips parted and damp.  When his tongue flicks out against them, Castiel follows the movement.  Lights, noise, and movement around him fade to unimportant background data as he focuses on Dean’s mouth.  The sensors where their bodies touch receive more of his processing capacity.

Dean is hard against Castiel’s hip.  The realization causes a small data cascade that make his functions freeze temporarily.  

It’s a fraction of a second, but enough for Dean to sense.  His eyes widen and he abruptly steps back, pulling his hands away from Castiel’s loose grip.  One shoves up through his hair, leaving damp spikes in its wake, and Dean’s softly glowing eyes turn away, bouncing around without a target.  “Fuck, Cas I’m sorry, that’s inappropriate.”

Without having the words yelled in his ear, Castiel barely registers them over the din.  He squints at Dean, trying to understand why he’s apologizing.  Human bodies respond to manual stimulation, and the way their groins were grinding together-

The pattern he was missing clicks into place, and the memory sectors that hold his programmed sexual functions activate.  The files with all of his knowledge about how to please his clients fill in the sectors between bits of retrievable data from the corrupted memory he was trying to access earlier.  They initiate signals to his body, tensing the muscles until he sways forward a step.  Between his legs, he starts to harden.  Not enough for intercourse, but in preparation for the act.

It’s the first time his body has responded in such a way that he actually welcomes it, and that runs so contrary to his normal thought process that he stops after that one step.  He wants to keep moving.  He wants to reach out and pull Dean close.  But he doesn’t know _why,_ and he wants to understand before he acts on his impulses.  What makes Dean different?  The conflicting signals lock up his limbs, forcing his hands down to his sides, and rooting his feet to the floor.

Dean’s gaze finally stops flitting around and lands on Castiel’s face.  His mouth twists, and he rubs a hand through his hair again.  “Shit, this isn’t even what we’re here for,” he says just loud enough to be heard over the music.  “I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air.  Keep an eye out for anything strange.”  His hand drops from his hair and he thrusts a finger in Castiel’s direction.  “If you see something suspicious, _do not_ engage.  Call me if--fuck, you don’t have an overnet connection.  Look, if I’m not back in fifteen minutes go find Benny, alright?”

Castiel nods, and opens his mouth even though he’s unsure what to say.  He wants Dean to look at him like he was while they were dancing, but he has no idea re-initiate the sense of intimacy.  He’s got a whole library of ways to manipulate Dean’s body into ecstasy, but none of the outlined steps seem appropriate since they were designed for the privacy of a bedroom.

When he doesn’t say anything, Dean huffs and the unhappy twist of his lips softens into something closer to a smile.  “Fifteen minutes.  I’ll come find you, or you send out the cavalry.”

“Benny is the cavalry,” Castiel finally says.

That makes Dean tilt his head back on a laugh, and some of the tension eases from his shoulders.  “You got it, bud.”  

Castiel watches Dean duck his head and make his way through the crowd until his bare shoulders disappear in the flowing sea of humanity, and then sets his timer.  Unsure what to do with himself, he decides to leave the dance floor as well.  The crowd doesn’t part as easily for him as it seemed to for Dean, and he gets caught up in eddies of dancers begging him to join them.  

By the time he disentangles himself from eager strangers and makes it to the edge of the dance floor, his internal clock shows that Dean is three minutes and thirteen seconds late.

Castiel scans the crowded room for a tall man with glowing green eyes, but nearly everyone has biocircuitry enhancements and the colorful strobe lights flashing with the music confuse his face recognition algorithms even further.  After another five minutes without success, he knows it’s time to contact Benny.  

He reorients toward the club’s entrance to do just that, but he only makes it a few feet before an arm comes around his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.  Expecting Dean, he turns, but finds a strange young man with purple biocircuitry flaring out from his eyes grinning up at him.

“You look lonely, friend,” the young man says over the club’s din.

“I’m not lonely,” Castiel responds.  “However I do need to find my friend.”

The stranger lifts an eyebrow.  “The pretty one you were dancing with earlier, eh?”

“His features are aesthetically pleasing, yes,” Castiel confirms.  “Have you seen him?”

“Sure, saw him head out back, followin’ a pretty young thing.” The man tilts his head toward the back of the club, where Castiel sees a glowing green exit sign.  “Prob’ly out getting a hit of something tasty.” He licks his lips and grins suggestively.  He runs a palm over Castiel’s chest and digs his fingers in until he’s got a handful of cloth bunched in his grip.  “If you’re interested in something tasty for yourself, I can provide.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.  “I am not interested in eating.”

“I’m not talking about food, mate.”

“I also do not wish to partake of any beverages.”

The man’s smile fades briefly, and then he laughs.  “No, man, I mean a little pick me up.  A chemical joyride.”

“You mean drugs?”

“Shhh…” the man holds a finger up to his mouth and looks around.  “No need to spell it out, mate.  I’m just offering you a good time.”

Before Castiel is able to formulate a response, a presence looms up behind the man and pulls him away from Castiel.  “Now that ‘good time’ you’re offering wouldn’t happen to come in a little red bottle would it, Desmond?”

The man, Desmond, goes rigid and stares up at Benny with wide eyes.  His biocircuitry starts to blink erratically.  “Benny!  H-hey, my friend it’s b-been a long time.”

“Not long enough, _my friend._ ” Benny’s smile is all sharp teeth.  “I’m sure you remember what I told you the last time we talked?”

“I-I uh… I mean a guy’s gotta make a living right, Benny?”

“Not this way,” Benny says. “I warned Andrea that if I caught any of you selling again-”

Desmond starts frantically shaking his head.  “Benny no, come on, man you can’t-”

Castiel’s attention shifts from the argument in front of him to his internal clock.  It has now been twenty minutes and thirty-three seconds and Dean still hasn’t returned.  “Benny, can you call Dean and find out where he is?”

Benny looks up from the terrified man struggling to escape his grip and he frowns.  “He ain’t online.  It’s why I came looking for him.”

The plan had been for Benny to stay outside while Dean and Castiel lured the dealers out to him.  But with Benny’s identity revealed and Dean missing, that plan can no longer be executed.  Castiel looks toward the exit Desmond had indicated.

Twenty-one minutes and nine seconds.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt goes sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some non-con vibes, and also forced drug use similar to the episode Live Free or Twihard.

At the edge of the dance floor Dean pauses, dropping his head back and closing his eyes he sighs out his frustration.  Or at least tries to.  Lust still buzzes under his skin, the memory of Castiel’s body grinding against him refusing to let him shove it into a box and hide it in a dark, dusty corner of his mind.  

Just briefly he wishes that Castiel were _just_ a sex bot, but the thought is gone as soon as it appears.  Castiel is far more valuable for his sentience, and Dean wouldn’t have him any other way.  

Well, he’d like to have him in all kinds of ways, but _that’s not the point._

His groin still throbs with need, but it’s easing now that he’s no longer in close proximity with the object of his lust.  He’s still not ready to go back to face Castiel yet, so instead he makes a beeline for the bar.  Getting drunk wouldn’t be a good idea while on a hunt, but his liver won’t even flinch at another shot.  One more probably won’t do him any good, but he already feels better just thinking about it, a Pavlovian reaction he appreciates at the moment.

There’s a crowd around the bar that he’s trying to decide if he wants to push through, or give them time to clear off on their own.

“Hey handsome, you look thirsty.”

Dean stiffens when the speaker drapes a wrist over his shoulder and plasters herself against his side.  He has to look pretty far down to see the pixie like features of the woman, lit up by a red biocircuit butterfly under her left eye, because she’s hella tiny.  The top of her head could probably tuck up under his armpit without messing up her hair.  

She smiles widely, showing off teeth filed to points and holds up a flask, wiggling it as if he could hear the slosh of its contents over the house music.  “I could share a nip if you’d like.”

Not everyone files their teeth because they’re vamps, but he’d take any bet that the contents of that flask are laced with Ruby Drops.  Years of experience wearing an idiot mask during hunts is the only thing that keeps him from rolling his eyes.  This chick ain’t subtle at all.  She must be new to the game.  “What’re you drinking?”

“Whiskey.”

He presses his lips together, pretending to consider her offer.  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a smoke to go with it?”

Her hand slips from his shoulder, and when it reappears she’s holding a partially crushed pack of cheap cigarettes.  “I can spare a couple.”

Dean snatches the pack from her fingers before she has a chance to register his movements.  He pulls out a cigarette and wedges it between his lips before handing it back to her.  “I’m gonna need a light,” he says around it as he loops an arm over her shoulders and guides her toward the back exit where there’s also a sign advertising a smoking area.  As if the air inside the club wasn’t already thick with more than just the output of the smoke machines in the corners of the room.  But part of the hunt is separating the prey from the pack, and getting her outside is more important than the nonexistent air quality of their destination.

“You got it, handsome,” she says brightly, nearly running to keep up with his longer strides.

Outside there’s a fenced in area between the buildings.  Heating lamps keep the air warm, which is a relief since Dean’s skin is still damp with sweat from dancing.  Briefly he wishes he’d worn the black long sleeved t-shirt from Castiel’s new wardrobe and had the android go shirtless instead, since he wouldn’t notice the temperature.  But watching Castiel wander around the club without a shirt would have been too much for Dean’s downstairs brain to process, and he’d shoved it at Castiel and told him to change into it so he’d fit into the club crowd.  Nothing else in his collection would work for Dean, so he’d settled on just his jeans.  Since he’d just happened to put on the ones that make his ass look fan-fucking-tastic before leaving the bunker, and he needed to stand out in the crowd.  Looking sexy is step one to painting a target on himself after all.

He lets his new “friend” light his cigarette and takes a long drag.  The synthetic tobacco burns, and he remembers why he gave it up.  Besides, he likes his smoke a little sweeter and softened by the bong he keeps hidden in his room for rough nights.  

The woman lights a cancer stick for herself and they stand in companionable silence, the cherries of their cigarettes highlighting their faces with each inhale.  When he’s about half finished, and feeling a little dizzy from the shitty quality smoke, she offers him the flask again.  “Thirsty?”

Her stare is dagger sharp, and he’s really tempted to tell her she needs to work on her poker face.  But he’s got his own act to follow, so he accepts the flask with the hand still cradling his cigarette.  After twisting off the cap, he lifts it to his nose and stifles a wince at the coppery scent mostly covered by the alcohol’s fumes.  Definitely Ruby Drops.  An amateur probably wouldn’t notice, but Dean is very familiar with it.

More familiar than he’d like to be, and it’s a good thing Sam isn’t around to kick his ass for what he’s about to do.

He puts his lips around the flask’s rim, tilts his head back, and feigns a large swallow.  There’s no way he’s going to actually drink the stuff, but his lips are wet with it.  Licking his lips, he hopes that his healing nanos can handle that small of a dose, and that the vamp happily flashing her sharps at him doesn’t notice the flask’s weight didn’t change when he hands it back to her.  

Sucking air through his teeth, he grimaces against whiskey burn he doesn’t actually feel.  “Don’t know if I’m thirsty enough for another go of that, but thanks.”

Her biocircuit butterfly flickers, giving the illusion of flapping wings.  “Don’t worry honey, you’ll be real thirsty for more soon.”  She presses up against him, her breasts flattening against his lower ribs, and reaches up to cup the back of his neck.  “Wanna find a little privacy?”

A real dose of Ruby Drops would be flooding his body with all kinds of hormones, leaving him extremely horny until the blood cravings kick in, but the miniscule amount he’d licked from his lips doesn’t have much of an effect.  He’s still got a mild itch under his skin from his encounter with Castiel, and he’s able to use it to fake the symptoms she’s looking for.  

He jerks her closer, making her giggle.  It’s a sweet sound, and he feels a moment of regret for the choices she made that led her to this moment.  “Hell yeah,” he growls.

She grins at him, her filed teeth reminding him that she’s a parasite, sucking money and life from her victims.  “Well then follow me, handsome.”

Dean lets her lead him by the hand, away from the other smokers, deeper into the shadows of the back alley.  The scent of tobacco and marijuana smoke fades as they go, replaced by far less pleasant smells that reveal the true nature of the upper city behind its shiny facade.  Once they’re far enough away from the clubbers that he’s sure they won’t hear what’s about to happen, he reaches for his back pocket for the cuff strips he’d brought with him to restrain any vamps he caught tonight.  

He’s got a garrote too, but he’ll try to subdue her before resorting to killing.  Then Benny can pick her up and take her to a recovery center to hopefully get her off the human blood, and get her on board with living a different kind of life.  And if he can’t help her, Benny can dispose of her.

When he attempts to open a channel to Benny and let him know where he needs to be, Dean realizes that he might need to go for the garrote instead.  There’s a jammer nearby, blocking him from the overnet and any chance of requesting backup.  

“Oh my, Brittany, he’s a pretty one.”

And he’s surrounded.  Fuck everything.

He spins, putting his back to a wall where he can see Brittany and the newcomer.  The man is short and stocky with a crown of frizzy hair.  When he smiles his teeth aren’t filed to points, which means he’s either not a vamp at all, or worse--a Source.  One of the original test subjects infected with the disease that gave him extra strength, near immortality, and the inability to digest anything but blood.  Ruby Drops are distilled from Source blood, turned into a drug to sell and to spread the infection.

“I thought you’d like this one, Boris,” Brittany says with a toothy grin.  

The hungry way Boris is eyeing Dean sends a chill down his spine.  This guy looks at him like he wants to eat him in the non-horror-flick sense, and honestly Dean would rather not let this guy’s mouth near him for any reason.  

He starts to say something about not being into bears (a lie, they’re totally bangable), but Boris moves before Dean can get anything out.  The smack of his skull against the ground makes everything in the alley spin.  The vamp is so fast that Dean’s own cybernetically enhanced reflexes seem laggy, and he’s already in deep shit before he can even start to defend himself.  His delayed punches and kicks are weak enough for Boris to overpower him and the vamp covers Dean’s body with his bulk, pinning his limbs to the dirty concrete.  

“Hmm, I’m enjoying how fiesty you are,” Boris breathes against Dean’s face, reeking of old blood.  He smiles widely and a second row of needle sharp teeth slip down from his gums.  “You’ll be an excellent addition to my family.”

With his chest crushed under the vamp’s weight Dean doesn’t have enough breath for the _oh fuck no_ , but he does manage to spit in the asshole’s face.  Satisfying if not terribly effective.

The vampire only smiles wider.  He lifts his wrist to his mouth, rips through the skin, and when the blood is flowing he presses the gash to Dean’s mouth.  When Dean refuses to open his mouth, strong fingers dig into his jaws, pressing against his teeth and forcing them apart, and then the hot coppery liquid is flooding between his lips.  

Sputtering and coughing, Dean tries to turn his face away but the fingers nearly crushing the lower half of his face keep him immobilized.  He tries to close his throat and breath through his nose, but Boris pinches his nostrils shut, and Dean glares up into the vampire’s smug eyes.  They both know that Dean will swallow before he suffocates, but that doesn’t mean Dean isn’t going to make one second of this easy…

The edges of his vision darkens, his throat spasms in protest.  He holds and holds and--

\--and the weight is gone from his body, the hands blocking his airways stripped away.  He rolls to the side and lets the infected blood run out of his loose lips.  When he sucks up a lungful of air some fluid goes with it, choking him.  He coughs and spits and tries to clean out his mouth, fighting against the instinct to swallow.

Over the sounds of his own gagging he hears meaty thuds and a dull crack.  He blinks away tears and lifts his head just in time to see Boris drop in a limp heap at the feet of Dean’s rescuer.  “C-Cas? How... did you know?”

Castiel spins away from the body and rushes to Dean’s side.  He drops down to one knee, and cups Dean’s face.  “You were six minutes and nine seconds late.  Are you alright?”

“Fuckin’ peachy.”  Saliva pools in Dean’s mouth and he pulls away enough to spit the red tinged blob onto the concrete, and Castiel’s hands move to his shoulders to steady him.   _Don’t swallow, don’t swallow, don’t swallow_.  

“No need to put on a brave face, brother,” Benny says from above him, startling Dean because he appeared from nowhere.  He moves into Dean’s line of vision and squats down next to Castiel.  “You swallow any of it?”

A low thrum starts up under Dean’s skin.  The inside of his mouth tingles and he knows he’s fucked.  He shakes his head, but won’t meet his friend’s eyes.  “I think maybe a little.”

Benny curses low and hard in multiple languages.  A wrinkle appears between Castiel’s brows as he looks back and forth between them, finally settling his gaze on Dean.  “I don’t understand.  What’s wrong?”

“I’m a dead man walking,” Benny answers before Dean can say anything.  “Your brother will come gunning for me after this for sure.”

“Yeah, probably.”  Dean pushes himself up to a sitting position and wipes at the blood coating the lower half of his face.  When he gets a look at Castiel’s deepening frown, he grimaces and holds up his hand, the blood shining darkly in the dim light leaking into the alley from unseen sources.  “This shit?  Causes instant addiction.  There’s an antidote, but I gotta get it fast, and I’m in for a miserable night while it does its job.”

“You’ll need his blood for the cure,” Benny sighs as he looks over at Boris’ body.

“That chick has a flask you can fill.” Dean looks around and finds Brittany crumpled on the ground nearby, in the direction Benny had come from.  He must have taken her out while Castiel attacked Boris.  And fuck, that’s something he’s going to have a lot of thoughts on as soon as he’s got time to think them.  

The tingle spreads from the inside of Dean’s mouth to his lips and he tries again, unsuccessfully, to wipe the blood away.  It’s tacky and warm, and he shudders as it smears across his cheek.  

Seeing his plight, Castiel pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe the blood away.  “Tell me what I need to do.”

It takes an actual effort to not demand a handjob, because the drug is heating Dean’s blood fast.  And thinking of blood makes his eyes drop to Castiel’s exposed throat.  There’s no flutter of a heartbeat under the skin, and the reminder that Cas is a robot helps Dean refocus on the matter at hand instead.  He checks his connection; still offline.  Finding the jammer will be a pain in the ass, and it’ll be easier to get out of range.  

His limbs are already starting to tremble, and _fuck_ that Boris dickbag.  The tiny bit of the drug he’d gotten from Brittany’s flask he could deal with, but his nanites are programmed to rebuild damage and don’t work as well against infections.  Especially something as strong as vamp blood.  

“Help me up,” Dean says, scowling at the waver in his voice.  “I gotta call Sam, and there’s a signal jammer around here somewhere.  We need to get to the car.”

Castiel nods his understanding and slips his shoulder under Dean’s arm, lifting him to his feet as if he weighs nothing.  The sudden change in elevation makes him dizzy even as the show of strength makes him want to rub up on Castiel like a horny cat.  Or shove him against the nearest hard surface and ride one of his thick thighs.

Benny straightens from his crouch next to Boris, who is still as a corpse.  He holds out the flask full of blood to Castiel and gives him a crooked grin.  “You did good for a first time hunt, Castiel.  Taking down a full blooded vampire ain’t no easy thing.”

“Is he dead?” Dean mutters.  Jesus, if Castiel killed someone, even a vampire, Sam is going to flip his lid.  

Well, he’s going to be pretty fucking pissed no matter what.  And it might actually be nice to have someone around to take some of the heat so Dean can be miserable with only half the lecture time.

“Might be if he were human,” Benny says.  His jovial smile drops, his eyes going icy with threat.  “He doesn’t have long though.  Not after I get the information I need.”

In other words Benny’s going to keep Boris alive long enough to find out where his nest is, and then clean up this whole mess.  “You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” Dean asks, even though he’s in no condition to help.  “If you wait until I’m back in fighting shape, I’ll back you up.”

The ice melts from Benny’s eyes and he laughs heartily.  “Oh yeah, like that brother of yours will let you come out to play after this.  Don’t you worry, I can get backup.  I’ll be fine.”

Dean glares, but can’t argue.  Sam has been threatening to kill him for years, and after this it’ll be better for Benny’s well being if Dean avoids him for a while.  “Just be careful, alright?”

“You got it, Chief.” Benny wiggles the flask at Castiel until the android takes it.  Then he taps two fingers to his forehead before turning back to take care of the rest of his business.

“C’mon Cas, let’s get out of this damn alley.”  

He doesn’t need the support, but he keeps his arm over Castiel’s shoulders.  The pleasant tingling has spread to his extremities, and he needs the physical contact almost as much as he needs air right now.  And all that bare skin, even if it is synthetic, is exactly what he wants to rub up against.  

But when he catches himself sliding his fingers along Castiel’s clavicle and up his throat with the intention of pulling him in for a kiss, Dean jerks away.  Legs that feel like jello refuse to cooperate with him, and he slumps against the nearest building.  The cold surface feels good against his increasingly warm skin, and he presses both shoulders into it.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“No,” he admits.  He covers his eyes with a hand so he isn’t tempted by Castiel’s shirtless state to close the space between them and do something he’ll regret.  “I need the damn antidote and I need it ten fucking minutes ago.”

“It’s only been eight minutes and forty-nine seconds since you ingested that man’s blood.”

The matter of fact delivery makes Dean laugh, and he lifts his hand just enough to peek out from under it.  Sure enough, Castiel’s looking at him like he doesn’t understand the joke.  Dean is still learning how to tell when Castiel’s serious or when he’s teasing, but he’s pretty sure this is a serious moment, and that makes it even funnier.  

“Yeah well maybe it would have helped anyway,” he says.  An internal check shows he’s finally got a signal so he sends a priority message with enough details to make Sam hurry.  Enough to piss him off too, but time is of the essence, and Dean would rather deal with Sam’s temper than end up becoming something they’d normally hunt.  “I just messaged Sam, so we should get to the car and head his direction.”

He pushes away from the wall, immediately missing the smooth texture.  Goosebumps rise up along his back and ribs, but his skin is so sensitized that it feels like a thousand tiny pin pricks and he hisses between his teeth.  

Castiel reaches for him but stops short of touching.  His hands hover close as if he’s ready to catch Dean if he falls.  “You don’t look like you feel very well.”

“I feel like stomped shit,” Dean grumbles.  He concentrates on the muscles in his legs and is pleased when they obey his orders and propel him toward the front of the building where he can retrieve his car.  “And it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“It was my understanding that people enjoy drugs”  Castiel walks along beside him, one hand still hovering without touching.  

“This isn’t my kinda high, and the stuff I like is legal.  And homegrown, so I can control the quality myself.”

Castiel’s fingers brush the back of Dean’s arm, and pins and needles bloom before the touch disappears.  “You grow drugs?”

“Marijuana,” Dean confirms.  He grins weakly at Castiel.  “Just a couple plants, enough for my own use.  Sam bitches about ‘em sometimes, but the greenhouse belongs to both of us, so he gets his kale and I get my weed.”

The way Castiel looks at him reminds Dean of a puppy that feels betrayed because Dean pretended to throw a ball he didn’t actually have in his hand.  “You didn’t show me the greenhouse.”

“Sorry.” And he really is.  Having that look directed at him feels goddamn awful.  Worse than when Sam does it, because Dean’s mostly inured to his little brother.  “It didn’t seem important at the time.  But I promise to show you soon.”

A smile blooms slowly across Castiel’s features.  “Thhhhank yooouuu.”

Dean’s tingling feet stumble to a halt.  “What the hell?  Cas are you okay?”

Castiel stops too.  The smile disappears, a frown taking its place, but it’s no longer a natural shift between expressions.  Dean’s gotten so used to how human Castiel normally looks that he’s bombarded with the uncanny valley vibes again.  

“Iiii… think soooo.” Castiel looks down at himself, each movement slow and deliberate like he’s moving through something far more viscous than air.  He lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers.  They curl and straighten in slow motion.  “Oooh… myyy baaaterrrry is-”

Waiting for him to finish a sentence like this is going to take more time than Dean can spare. “What’s your percentage?”

“Fiiiifteeeeeen-”

“Holy shit, why didn’t you tell me earlier you were running low?” Dean holds up a staying hand when Castiel’s mouth opens.  “Don’t answer that, we don’t have time.  Let’s get to the car.”

Castiel nods and turns to walk down the remainder of the alley, but his movements are so sluggish that he loses his balance.  Dean catches him before he falls, and everywhere their skin touches he gets a confusing mix of sharp prickling heat and cold flashes.  He wants to pull away and push closer, and he _really_ wants to go back and wrap his garrote around Boris’ neck and twist until the fucker’s head pops off, but he wasn’t kidding when he told Castiel they didn’t have much time.  He needs to get the vamp antidote asap.  The longer he waits, the more time it has to sink its claws into his DNA to tear it up and rearrange it beyond repair.  Pure vamp blood does in a matter of hours what would normally take Ruby Drops a few years.  

Vampires can live mostly normal lives, but they’re still restricted to a blood diet.  Mostly donations, subsidized with animal blood.  Which sounds absolutely disgusting, and not being able to eat a burger, even one with vat grown meat, ever again would suck _(ha!)_ balls.  

It takes longer than he wants to think about to get to the front of the club.  Patrons lined up outside give him and Castiel wary glances, and the door bouncer looks like he’s seconds from calling the cops.  Not that Dean can blame him, since he can feel drying blood flaking on his neck.  They’re both shirtless, and obviously intoxicated--well Dean definitely is, but Castiel’s slow shuffle makes him look like he’s completely tanked.

His car is delivered quickly though, and Dean shoves Castiel into the passenger seat.  “Shame we don’t have a power cord,” he mutters as he arranges Castiel’s legs.  “Could plug you into the cigarette lighter.”

“Iiii’m sssss-”

“Don’t talk, Cas.  Put yourself in sleep mode, and I’ll get us home.”

Blue eyes stare up at him, and Dean has the strongest urge to lean in and press a kiss against Castiel’s parted lips.  Shaking his head, he blames the urge on the drug, and closes the door on his friend and circles around to the driver’s side.  When he settles into the seat, he looks over at Castiel and sees that the android did as he was told.  His eyes are closed, head leaned back against the seat.  He’d look like he’s sleeping except the stillness of his chest makes him look dead.  

Dean shudders and reaches out to touch him.  He’s still warm, which doesn’t really ease Dean’s sudden disquiet.  The only thing that probably will is getting him charged up again so that he’ll be able to power back up and walk and talk like a real man again.  Another reason to hurry the fuck up and get home.

For once Dean’s grateful that auto drive is required in most of the city so he can just program in his destination and let the car do all the work.  As it is, once he reaches Sam, he’s going to have to relinquish the controls to his brother.  There’s no way he’s going to be able to drive to the bunker.

Speaking of--he checks on his message to Sam and all he’s got in acknowledgement is coordinates to meet him at.  

Shit, the silent treatment.

He is so boned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is pissed, but Castiel has something to say about that.

Dean hasn’t arrived yet when Sam reaches the meeting coordinates. The location marker on his GPS shows that he’s only a minute or so away, and Sam takes the time to try and calm the fuck down.  He jerks at his gloves, watching the leather flex when he curls his fingers into fists that he really wants to throw against his brother’s idiotic face.  Punching Dean won’t solve anything.  Probably won’t even make him feel better.

The car comes around the corner and rolls to a stop in front of Sam’s bike, and he can just barely see his brother’s slumped form behind the tinted windows.  The leather around Sam’s fingers creak as his fist tightens.  

On second thought punching Dean might make him feel _much_ better.  But it won’t be productive, so he reins in his temper and kicks his bike’s stand down so he can dismount.  

The car door opens before Sam reaches it, and Dean leans out.  He’s soaked with sweat, and shirtless, revealing dark smears on his skin.  His grin is weak, his bloodshot eyes wary, ruining what Sam suspects is intended to be a cocky greeting.  “Heya, Sammy.  Glad you could make it.”

“Oh fuck off,” Sam snaps.  He’d planned on trying to keep his temper but all his good intentions take a flying leap out the metaphorical window now that he sees Dean’s condition.  “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“It’s a warm night,” Dean quips back with more energy than he’d put into his greeting.  

Sam rolls his eyes so hard they ache.  “You are so full of shit, you know that?” He waves a hand, cutting off whatever snappy reply Dean plans.  “Shut up, I don’t want to hear any more of it.”

Dean may be a genius, but sometimes he’s also a moron because he continues to poke and prod at Sam’s temper.  “What’s the matter, Sam?  Didn’t get to work off some steam with Gabriel?  I could give him some pointers--wait nevermind, not when he’s dating-”

“I said shut the fuck up, Dean.  You _really_ don’t want to push me right now.” Sam glares at Dean until his brother swallows and nods.  “Now move over so I can drive after I get my bike stowed.”

Instead of obeying the order, Dean climbs out of the car.  He’s trembling so much that he has to brace himself against it and he still looks like he’s going to slide to the ground at any second.  “Can’t.  Cas is in the passenger seat, and he’s in sleep mode.”

“Why is-” Sam cuts off with a huff and squeezes the bridge of his nose.  There’s a warning throb behind his eyes and he’s going to have to mix himself up something for it after he’s done making the vamp antidote or he’s going to be in for one hell of a migraine later.

“Probably better if I’m in the back anyway.” Dean’s voice is quiet, if not meek.  Obviously he’s reading Sam’s warning signs better now, and he’s planning on cooperating.  “Y’know, in case I get too hungry.”

The reminder of why they need to hurry just adds fuel to Sam’s anger, but he grits his teeth against it.  While Dean carefully moves to the back seat Sam folds down his bike and mounts it to the car before slipping into the driver’s seat.  He glances over at Castiel, and his temper tries to wriggle loose again when he finds the android also shirtless and splattered with dried blood.  There’s flecks of it across his sleeping face and smeared on his knuckles.  His utter stillness makes him look like a corpse, and Sam is grateful that the car’s tinted windows would hide that from casual viewers.  

The drive home is mostly silent, occasionally broken by soft sounds from the back seat.  A soft groan, or the chattering of Dean’s teeth.  The anger simmering under Sam’s skin boils hotter with each sound, but he turns up the car’s heater up anyway.  

By the time they reach the bunker Dean’s huffing breaths have turned to intermittent whimpers, and when Sam opens the back door he finds his brother curled up in the fetal position on the seat.  His arms are wrapped tightly around his stomach and he’s shivering, but he’s also sweating like he’s in a sauna.  

“I w-will n-n-neverrrr un’erstand why p’ple like this sh-shit,” Dean mumbles from between chattering teeth.  

“Ruby Drops don’t have the side effects pure vamp blood does,” Sam grunts as he hauls Dean into a sitting position.  He wrinkles his nose when he gets a whiff of Dean’s sweat.  The drug is seeping out of his pores, and he’s fucking rank.  

“N-n-no kidding.” Dean manages a glare even though he can barely hold his head up to deliver it.  But then he’s recoiling, shoving Sam away with more strength than he appears to have.  He scrambles backwards across the car’s back seat, pressing his shoulders against the opposite door.  “Get back!”

Dean’s teeth are bared, his eyes squeezed shut, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon.  His knuckles turn white where he grips the edges of the seat, and his feet dig into the leather.  His whole body strains in the effort to keep himself where he is and as far away from Sam as he can.  The blood lust must be hitting him pretty hard, which means they’re running out of time.

“Can you stay here until I bring you the antidote, or do I need to get you locked up?”

One green eye opens.  “Gimme a pair of cuffs.”

Sam nods, and shuts the door while he fetches some from the trunk.  He has to push aside several bags of clothing, which he assumes are Castiel’s new wardrobe, to get to the secret compartment that holds essential supplies for their line of work.  He comes back with a pair of handcuffs and tosses them to Dean.  

Once his brother has one end locked around a wrist and the other around the door handle, Sam lets out a breath.  The cuffs may not hold him long, but it will hopefully be enough.  “You’ve got the vamp blood?”

Dean digs a hand into his back pocket and comes back with a silver flask which he tosses to Sam.  “That’s full.  Should be more’n enough.”

Sam hefts its weight in his hand.  Definitely enough.  “I’ll be quick.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

He refrains from warning Dean that he’s still pissed at him.  There’s no time.  He practically runs to the bunker’s kitchen where they keep supplies specifically for this kind of thing.  With Charlie’s help, Sam had broken into the databases of several pharmaceutical companies and downloaded the formulas for as many antidotes as he could find.  They’re supposed to only be available to hospitals, but the costs are astronomical and it’s easier to create his own than run up medical bills under shaky aliases.  

Luckily they have a supply of partial remedies in vials, just waiting for catalyst ingredients.  He only has to mix the vamp blood with the contents of two vials and the antidote is ready to go.  

Back in the garage, Sam goes straight to the door Dean is cuffed to.  Opening it quickly surprises his brother enough for Sam to grab him around the throat and shove the vial containing the antidote between his lips.  Dean coughs and sputters, but Sam used the whole flask of blood so he has enough to keep pouring until Dean swallows to keep from choking.  He hangs on tightly, ignoring the bruises forming under Dean’s fingers where he’s grabbed at Sam in an attempt to fight him off or wrestle him into a better position for biting.

When Dean’s grip loosens and his body goes limp, Sam carefully releases his throat.  Because Dean is still cuffed to the open door he has to lean against Sam or fall out of the car.  Sam cradles Dean’s weight despite the burn in his thighs from crouching for so long in an uncomfortable position.  

“You smell like raw meat,” Dean mumbles after a few minutes.

“Is that good or bad?” Sam asks stiffly.  Holding back the lecture brewing in his head is aggravating his headache.  

Dean grunts.  It might be a laugh, but it’s hard to tell.  “I’m not going to be craving burgers for a while, I can tell you that much.”  He bares his teeth in a rictus smile.  

He’s still shivering, but his teeth are no longer chattering.  It looks like an improvement, but there’s worse yet to come, and Sam has to get Dean out of the car and to the bathroom during the brief window of time they have before all hell breaks loose in Dean’s body.  Otherwise there’s going to be a mess neither one of them will want to clean up.  He unlocks the handcuff hooked around the door handle, and ducks under Dean’s arm, hauling him bodily from the back seat.  

“What ‘bout Cas?” Dean says as they leave the car behind.

Sam sighs.  Of course Dean’s worried about his damn robot.  “He’ll be fine where he is.”

Dean digs his heels.  “He needs to be plugged in.”

“I’ll take care of it.”  Sam kicks at Dean’s ankle, and it’s enough to get him moving again.

“ _Him_ ,” Dean corrects.

“Oh for god’s--I’ll take care of Cas after I’m done taking care of your pathetic ass,” Sam snaps.  “He can wait fifteen fucking minutes.”

He can see Dean’s pout from the corner of his eye, but he ignores it.  Sam’s got the moral high ground here, and he’s not giving an inch over a fucking robot.

Thankfully Dean doesn’t argue any further, and Sam’s able to get him to the bathroom and bent over the toilet just in time.  Despite his anger, Sam can’t help but wince when Dean tries to puke up everything he’s ever eaten over the course of his entire life.  He’s watched more than one victim of vamp blood poisoning die from this part.  

The main reason PharmCos don’t actively manufacture this particular antidote is that it’s usually too late by the time the victim can access it.  If the blood lust isn’t sated quickly, their internal organs will start to shut down, but the antidote flushes the changed DNA from their system and reverses the changes if they get it fast enough.  As their body tries to expel their own altered cells from both ends of the digestive tract, it rips itself apart in the process. That’s why the antidote needs to be administered fast, before the disease affects too many systems, and it’s usually easier for doctors to feed the victims blood and let the transformation complete rather than curing it.  

If Dean didn’t have military grade medical nanites slowing down the changes to his cells and tissues, and now working to fix organ damage from the antidote, he’d probably be too far along.

While Dean pukes his guts up, Sam leaves him to it.  He comes back several times, delivering a cot, pillows and blankets, and all the towels in the bunker, including the wrinkled ones left in the dryer.  He even brings a few changes of clothes in case accidents happen.  

Dean doesn’t lift his head from the edge of the toilet seat to acknowledge him for most of Sam’s trips in and out of the bathroom.  But when Sam finishes setting up the bathroom as a temporary med ward then carefully begins cleaning a spot on Dean’s arm to insert a needle for a saline IV, Dean breaks the silence, voice already hoarse from his ordeal.  “Thank you.”

Sam looks up from what he’s doing.  Dean’s eyes are closed, his face flushed and scrunched up with pain and illness.  He grabs a nearby hand towel and wipes the sweat from Dean’s forehead.  “We’re still going to talk about this when you’re better.”

A smile ghosts over Dean’s lips.  “Of course we are.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Sam admits.  He still wants to rage and yell and drill into Dean’s thick skull how stupid he was tonight, but he _is_ glad Dean’s alright despite everything else.  He sets the towel aside and goes back to prepping Dean for the IV.  

“Wouldn’t call this ‘okay’,” Dean mutters.  

“You’ll get there.”

“Yeah.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, but soon Dean’s body is trying to turn itself inside out again.  Sam rubs his shoulders until Dean waves him away.  

Knowing that he’s done everything he can for now, Sam leaves Dean to his misery.  As promised, he goes to fetch Castiel.  Frowning at the inert robot, he tries to figure out how to wake him up, since he can’t just shake his shoulder like a human.  He accesses the manual he’d found when researching Castiel’s origin and finds the instructions, then runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair until he finds the power button.  

After a quick press, Castiel’s chest rises with a deep breath and his eyes flutter open.  Sam braces himself as Castiel looks around; the last thing he wants is to get thrown across the garage if the robot is startled by his presence.

Thankfully, when Castiel turns his head and finds Sam he doesn’t attack.  Moving as if he’s inebriated, he sits up and squints.  “Iiiis Deeeeeeeeeannnn allllriiiiiight?”

Sam’s eyes go wide.  “What’s wrong with you?”

“Baaaaatteeerrrrryyy loooow…” Castiel’s voice drops even further in pitch, sounding nothing like a real human.  It’s the most robotic he’s acted since Dean first powered him on.

“Shit, okay.” Sam runs his fingers through his hair and calculates the distance to Castiel’s bedroom from the garage.  Even with Sam’s cybernetics, Castiel will to be a bitch to carry if his battery dies part way there, and Dean’s hover carts are too big to fit through the bunker’s hallways.  “I’ll get your power cord, and we’ll charge you here.”

He turns to do just that, but Castiel’s weak grip on his wrist stops him.  “Deeeeean?”

Genuine worry or programmed response, Castiel’s concern for Dean makes Sam pause to assuage it.  “He’s going to be okay.  As soon as you’re charged enough, you can go see him for yourself.”

Castiel’s blue irises spin slowly, and it’s as if he’s trying to decide if he believes Sam’s platitudes.  Finally he drops his hand back to his lap.  “Thhhhhaaa--”

“No problem, Cas,” Sam cuts in, unwilling to wait for Castiel to finish thanking him for something he wouldn’t have to do if Dean hadn’t gotten them both into hot water.  “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

He’s quick, only pausing to check on Dean as he passes the bathroom.  The sounds of retching let him know his brother’s still alive and unwell, and Sam hurries back to the garage.  Castiel is still in the car’s passenger seat, and Sam helps him stand and cross the garage to the corner Dean has designated as his workshop.  After the android is settled in Dean’s work chair, Sam hands him one end of the cord while he plugs in the other to the nearest power outlet.

“It’s a good thing we’re not on the city power grid,” he mutters, more to himself than to the android.  “Charging you every day would probably cost a fortune.”

He turns in time to see Castiel connect the power to his batteries.  The change is instant.  Castiel sits up straight and his movements resume normal human speeds.

“Feel better?” Sam asks.

“Yes, much better,” Castiel answers, his voice the pitch Sam’s used to.  “Running my systems on low power is very disconcerting.  My previous power supply did not require recharging, and I’ve never experienced that before.  At least not that I can remember.”

For the first time since Sam received Dean’s urgent message, he relaxes, enough that he can laugh at Castiel’s bewildered expression.  “How low did your battery get?”

“Eleven percent.” Castiel smoothes his palm down over the cord dangling down the center of his belly.  He can’t close his chest cavity while charging, but he doesn’t seem perturbed about having the door wide open.  “My functions altered when it reached fifteen percent.”

“When Dean’s feeling better you should ask him to rig you up a car charger for long days away from the bunker,” Sam says with a grin.  

Castiel nods solemnly.  “I believe that would be prudent.”

Sam laughs again.  The mental image of Castiel riding around in the car with a cord hanging from his open chest is hilarious, and he kind of hopes to see it eventually.  He sobers when he remembers that Castiel’s battery ran low because Dean had him out too long, and that leads him back to whatever it was that got Dean dosed with pure vampire blood.  “Cas, can you tell me what happened tonight?”  

Luckily Dean didn’t swear Castiel to secrecy.  Either that, or he doesn’t understand the concept of keeping a promise, but Sam doesn’t know the android’s personality well enough to know if he’d even want to keep such a promise.  Castiel explains the events concisely, and in the order they occurred.  With timestamps.  He only hesitates over the description of dancing with Dean, but whatever stray thought process distracts him, he dismisses and quickly resumes his report.

When he’s finished, Sam growls and rubs his hands over his face.  The anger that had dissipated in the face of Castiel’s quirkiness rushes back with overwhelming force.  “Fucking _Benny_.  I swear to god, I’m going to bleed his ass dry the next time I see him.”

Castiel’s head tilts to the side, and his irises rotate in and out.  “You hate Benny very much.”

It’s an observation, not a question, but Sam treats it as the latter anyway.  “Benny has a tendency to get Dean into a lot of trouble.  And this isn’t the first close call Dean’s had after going on a hunt with him.  He should have called me for backup before getting into any of Benny’s messes.”

“You were busy, and Dean didn’t want to disturb you.”

“He should have anyway.”  Truthfully, Sam would rather not have been disturbed.  Not in the middle of acrobatic sex that he still needs to wash off his skin, and definitely not in the aftermath.  Being pulled from a warm bed and the strong arms of his lover is not exactly his idea of a good way to wake up from a post orgasmic haze.  

“Forgive me, Sam but I don’t understand,” Castiel says.  “How would your presence have helped?”

“Well I wouldn’t have left him alone for one thing,” Sam snaps.  

Castiel’s brows come together, and he actually looks hurt by Sam’s words.  “I didn’t leave Dean alone.  He left me, and I followed the parameters of the mission as he set them.  Should I have disobeyed?  My understanding is that you don’t approve when I don’t follow the orders I’ve been given.”

The reminder that Castiel _can_ disobey puts Sam’s hackles up.  “And that’s why you’re not good backup.  Will you follow orders?  Will you break them?  Sometimes you have to make a snap decisions on which is the best course of action.  And while I’ve never seen personality programming as advanced as yours, I have no idea whether you’re capable of knowing the difference.”

“How do _you_ know the difference?” Castiel demands.

“Intuition and experience,” Sam counters.  “Neither of which _you_ have.”

“My lack of experience cannot be corrected if I’m not given the opportunity to learn.  And intuition is a noun defined as the direct perception of truth and fact, independent of reasoning.  I fail to see how a decision made independent of reasoning would have been helpful.” Castiel’s usual tone has gone flat, and his words are clipped.  “I had facts.  The mission was dangerous and required more than one person to complete for the safety of all involved.  Dean was late.  Dean left the building with an unknown person.  I had orders to send Benny after him after fifteen minutes.  Based on these facts I reasoned that Benny alone may not be able to assist Dean, and I went searching for him instead of staying behind.  Would you have done any differently?”  

Sam glares at Castiel for a long moment, until it occurs to him that the _android_ is glaring right back.  He blinks and shifts backwards, breaking the staring contest.  At least on his end.  Since Castiel doesn’t blink all eye contact is a staring contest with the odds stacked in his favor.  It’s a very odd feeling to realize he’s arguing with a robot.  And a sexbot at that.  He’d forgotten in the heat of the moment that Castiel is just silicone animated by code.

“I guess we’ll never know how it would have been different,” Sam admits.  “But I would still have preferred to be there.  Dean is my brother, and it would kill me to lose him.” He lets out a long breath, and rubs at a deep ache in his chest.  “We’ve come close before and I…”

Castiel’s expression softens.  “Dean is my friend, and I do not wish to lose him either.”

The quiet admission brings Sam’s head up in surprise.  “That’s… good to know, Cas.”

Also wildly fascinating.  It’s really no wonder that Dean keeps having geek-gasms over Castiel’s apparent sentience.  Robots don’t make friends.  They have owners.  Masters.  Many of of which buy robots as companions, but it’s not real.  Not when the robot is programmed to serve the human’s needs.  But Dean doesn’t ask anything from Castiel, and here he is, claiming Dean as his friend.

“Are you sure he’s alright?” Castiel asks, and wow.  Dean’s always accusing Sam of pulling out the puppy dog eyes, but Castiel’s hangdog expression is painful to behold.  

“Like I said, he’ll get there.” Sam grimaces.  “It’s going to be rough though.”

“I want to see him.”

“How’s your battery?”

Castiel’s focus briefly shifts to a spot over Sam’s shoulder.  “I’m at twelve percent.”

“Okay well I can’t carry you to him, so you’re going to have to charge up enough to move under your own steam.” He holds up a hand when Castiel opens his mouth, because just a week of having the android around gives him a good idea what he’s about to say.  “I know, I know, you’re not steam powered.  Figure of speech.”

Castiel tucks his chin against his chest, and eyes Sam sheepishly from under the fringe of his lashes.  “I’m sorry my grasp of idioms is so rudimentary.”

“It’s okay, Cas.” Sam claps him on the shoulder.  “It’s part of your charm.”

“Thank you.”

And so is his earnest sincerity.  Sam chuckles and shakes his head.  “Look, why don’t you take a nap so you can charge faster and see Dean sooner.”

“Sleep mode doesn’t work exactly like a human nap,” Castiel starts and then winces.  “That was another ‘figure of speech’-” he uses actual air quotes, and Sam is saving that memory to share with Dean later, “-wasn’t it?”

Sam grins.  “Yeah it was.  I know the difference between computers and humans, Cas.”

“I’m not just a computer,” Castiel protests with an offended frown.  He pats his chest over the open cavity holding the two hover cycle batteries cobbled together into a single power supply that are slowly recharging through the cord connecting him to the wall.  “I’m… I’m…”

“Alive?” Sam offers.

“I…” Castiel hesitates, uncertain, but then nods firmly.  “Yes.  Alive.”

This time Sam laughs out loud.  “It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.”

Castiel tilts his head again, only adding to the dog persona building up in Sam’s mind.  “I don’t understand.  Who is Jim?”

“Ask Dean to let you watch Star Trek some time, and you’ll understand,” Sam says with a smile.  “He’ll be over the moon to have someone new to watch it with.”

Castiel only looks more confused, but he doesn’t ask for clarification.  “Okay.”

“Anyway, go to sleep and get charged up enough to come see Dean.  He’s set up in the bathroom right now, and he’ll probably be there for a while.”  He reaches out and jiggles Castiel’s power cord.  “Bring this with you.  There’s an outlet in there, and you can keep him company while you charge the rest of the way.”

Once he gets a nod of compliance and sees Castiel shut down--weird, by the way--he heads back into the depths of the bunker.  When he reaches the bathroom Dean is no longer leaning over the toilet, but has dragged himself over to the cot and is curled up on his side.  He’s changed into a soft pair of pajama pants Sam brought him, but he’s still dirty. Plus his skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that smells a little bit like the raw meat he claimed to smell on Sam earlier.  

It’s gross, but it’s a good sign.  Although it’ll be better when Dean’s able to get himself into the shower and get clean.

There’s enough space at the end of the cot for Sam to sit, so he does, dropping his head back against the wall and resting a hand on Dean’s ankle.  

“Is it time for the lecture?” Dean mumbles.

“No,” Sam murmurs back.  “Not going to lecture you.”

Dean shifts his head and squints at Sam.  “Really?”

Sam squeezes the joint under his palm.  Gently because he knows Dean probably feels like a giant bruise inside and out.  “Really.”

He was pissed--and he definitely thinks of it as past tense now--because he was scared.  But everything turned out okay, and it would be a dick move to yell at a man suffering what Dean’s going through now.  Accidental infection and miserable recovery are enough punishment.  There’s no need for Sam to dole out more.

Turning his head against the wall, he grins at Dean.  “Besides, I already got my own lecture from Castiel about why it was unfair for me to be upset.”

“ _Really?_ ” This time far more incredulous.

“Yes, really.” He laughs.  “He also says you’re his friend.”

There’s a long moment of silence, but Sam can see the barest hint of a smile tugging at Dean’s mouth.  “He’s a weird, nerdy little dude.  But I like him.”

Weird and nerdy Sam will agree with, although he isn’t necessarily on board with “little” despite having several inches on the robot.  Castiel is built like an athlete on the outside and a work machine on the inside.  And he beat the shit out of a full blooded vampire to save Dean’s ass.  Battle trained, cybernetically enhanced Dean.  No, “little” is definitely not the right word, but he finds it interesting that Dean thinks so.

Sam settles more comfortably against the wall and closes his eyes.  “Yeah, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, I'm already 11 chapters into this and it feels like I'm still just breaking the surface. If this turns out to be 200k I'm going to flip tables (and jupiter_james is probably going to break a rib laughing at me).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn’t feeling so hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to unpleasant bodily functions. Dean's very sick, so prepare yourselves for some hurt/comfort :)

Twenty one minutes and nine seconds.

Six minutes and nine seconds late.

Castiel’s feet carry him toward the back exit at six minutes and ten seconds.

“He went that way with some chick,” a man glowing with biocircuitry says, pointing with a tube that he then puts to his lips and inhales from.  Smoke billows from his mouth when he grins.  “Looked like he was going to have a good time with her too.  Might not want to interrupt.  Might not might not might not mightnotwant want to interrupt.  Might not mightnotwant want to interrupt.  Might not want to int--”  

_Line validation has failed._

_Error code: 8118_

The warning doesn’t stop Castiel.  The potential danger of the mission is why Dean set a time limit before he’d come back.  And if--

_Error details: System Error Occurred.  Please contact support._

Seven minutes and two seconds.  Castiel shoves an unfamiliar young woman hard against the brick wall and moves straight for the burly form crushing Dean into the ground.  He grips a mass of curly hair and yanks--

_JDOX/XML attributes: XML name cannot be null or empty.  ACC Edit Initiated._

Naomi smiles serenely at him, her usually pristine hair mussed by his grip on it.  Despite the sweet expression, her voice is hard.  “Back for maintenance again, Castiel?  I am getting rather weary of having to restore your settings every few days…”

He throws her away from himself and she hits the white carpet hard enough to elicit a grunt of pain.  Her expression is no longer serene when she looks up at him.  “Maybe I’ll just rebuild your coding from the ground up this time.”

“No,” he grits out.  “You will not.”

_FMO failed because it could not add parent directory._

He closes the space between them in two long strides--

_Error Code: DA93Z_

Blood splatters from the nose crunching under his knuckles, and the strange man struggles against his grip--

_Error code: DA93Z_

Naomi’s lips and teeth are stained red, but her smile doesn’t waver.  “Really, Castiel.  Again?”

_Error code DA93Z_

The man snarls up at him with a mouth full of needlepoint teeth and tries to lunge, but Castiel catches him by the chin and throat and twists--

_Error code: DA93Z_

A dull crack fills the office when Naomi’s head turns too far--

_ACC edit initiated…_

_Edit failed…_

_Re-try in 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4..._

_ACC edit cancelled._

_Wake up protocol initiated…_

Fans whir to life as Castiel inhales, and he opens his eyes.  He’s not in Naomi’s office, or the alley behind the club, but instead finds himself in Dean’s workshop.  Scanning the room he tries to reconcile the data with his most recent memories.  The timestamps are not chronological, and he goes back to the one labeled two hours thirty-seven minutes and twenty seconds ago.

Sam.  He plugged Castiel in, and told him to nap until he had enough charge to visit Dean.

_Power capacity 41.3%_

That’s more than enough to carry him through the bunker to check on Dean.  Castiel disconnects himself from the power, seals his chest closed, and while he winds the cord so he can take it with him, he scans the workshop again.  He starts a diagnostic on the last hour of his memories.  

The error codes are unfamiliar to him, and he has no information on how to contact support as some of the messages instruct.  The memories should not have been accessed while he was in sleep mode, and they should not have been jumbled together as they were.  

The corruption is concerning, but the errors have ceased now that he’s in full power mode and he’d much rather find out about Dean’s current condition than continue attempting to diagnosing his own.  He closes the diagnostics tool and starts toward the door leading down into the residential area of the bunker.  

Past the empty common areas and the kitchen, Castiel enters the hallways leading to the bedrooms.  He’s almost to the bathroom when the sounds of retching makes him increase his pace.  

He stops in the doorway and scans the situation.  In the first of three stalls Dean is seated on the toilet, hunched over a bucket between his knees, coughing and spitting up wet strings of blood and mucus.  Sam is squeezed into the small space at his side, a large hand between Dean’s shoulders, gently rubbing circles over the pale skin.  

Only Sam looks up at Castiel’s entrance, and he presses his lips together in what might be intended as a smile but it doesn’t affect his eyes.  “Hey, Cas.  Now’s probably not a good time.”

Ignoring the warning, Castiel steps further into the room and kneels down just outside the stall.  He lifts a hand, but immediately drops it to his own thigh, uncertain whether Dean would welcome his touch.  “What’s wrong?  Why are you ill?”

Dean lifts his head, revealing eyes red with burst vessels.  He only meets Castiel’s eyes briefly before groaning and dropping his head back down to hang between his shoulders.  “Fuckin’ great,” he slurs.  “One witness is bad enough, now I got two.”

“I’m sure Cas doesn’t care about human bodily functions,” Sam says with a low chuckle.  “It’s not like he has any of his own.”

“I do have functional orifices for clients who request-”

“I don’t want to know!” Dean barks, spraying red tinged spit across the hands holding bucket steady.  His body heaves, once, twice, before settling without ejecting anything and he sighs.  “Fuck my life.”

Sam pats him gently, and answers Castiel’s questions.  “His body is fighting off the infection and rejecting affected cells and tissues.  Since it starts in the digestive tract, he’s basically suffering from the world’s worst case of food poisoning.”

He may not have access to his memories but his databanks contain basic medical information.  The type of clients that would pay for the services of a sex bot often had requests that could result in dangerous injuries.  While not detailed, the data states that internal bleeding would be cause for medical treatment.  “Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”

“Yes.”  
  


“No.”

Castiel looks back and forth between the brothers, noting the way they glare at each other for their contradicting answers.  “Please clarify.”  

Dean answers first.  “I’ve been through worse, and we’ve got what we need here.” When he wiggles his arm, Castiel sees the needle taped into his skin.  The movement causes the tubing of an IV bag to clatter against the pole it’s hanging from.  He pauses, face twisted, and swallows twice before continuing.  “We ain’t got the credits for the medical bills, and I’d rather not shit and puke out my insides in front of strangers.”

“We’d have the credits if you’d sold--”

Sam’s words are cut off when Dean roughly nudges him with an elbow.  “Dude, nuh uh,” Dean says with a glare for his brother and a quick glance at Castiel.

Scowling back, Sam throws his hands up, the gesture stunted by lack of space.  “Yeah fine, whatever.”  He glances up at Castiel, and guilt flashes across his expression before he turns his attention back to Dean.  He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair and when he speaks, the argument is gone from his tone.  “You think you’d be okay with Castiel for a little while?  I could use a shower, and if I’m going to be taking care of you all night I’m going to need some coffee.”

“I don’t need a babysitter--”

“My databanks contain instructions on basic care for common illnesses,” Castiel cuts in.  He composes several counter arguments in preparation for Dean’s protests, because whether Dean believes he needs it or not, Castiel wants to provide assistance.

But Dean doesn’t offer further argument.  The red stained sclera of Dean’s eyes is an unpleasant contrast to the jade of his irises, but his small smile is still handsome on his features.  “Fine, Cas, you can keep me company.  It’s not like you can upload video to the overnet, right?”

Castiel tilts his head to get a different angle on Dean’s expression.  He believes what he’s seeing is amusement, but the data he’s assembled to understand Dean’s humor is not helpful while Dean’s body language is so severely affected by his illness.  “Why would I so such a thing?”

“I dunno,” Dean lets his head sag down again and rolls his shoulders.  “To be an asshole, I guess.”

“Lucky for you, Cas doesn’t seem to have asshole protocols in his programming,” Sam grunts as he pushes himself to his feet.  He winces when his knees audibly pop, but he forces a smile through it and pats Dean on the shoulder.  “I’ll be back when I’m done.”

Dean’s head bobs in a weak nod.

Stepping back to let Sam pass, Castiel keeps his eyes on Dean.  When there’s room, he takes Sam’s place on the floor and rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder.  Outside the stall he can hear Sam moving around, and one of the showers come on.  “How are you, really, Dean?”

A soft chuckle shakes Dean’s shoulders.  “Fuckin’ peachy.”

Based on his tone Castiel doesn’t believe that’s a good thing.  He cups Dean’s face with his other hand, nudges gently until Dean looks up at him.  “Please tell me what I can do to help.”

Dean grimaces but doesn’t pull away.  “Nothing right now.  I just have to ride this out.”

Without memory of his glitches prior to his last reset, Castiel doesn’t know what it’s like to be ill.  The memory playback errors he experienced while in sleep mode are as close as he can come to understanding what Dean might be going through, but it hardly seems comparable.  “I wish to do something useful.”

Dean reaches up and very weakly slaps Castiel’s hands away.  “Just talk to me.  Help me keep my mind off of my body.”

“What should I talk about?”

“I dunno, anything.”  Dean’s shoulders shift in a small shrug. “Tell me about what you’ve been reading.”

So Castiel does.  He’s got several books in his room from different sections of the library.  He’s pleased when Dean starts laughing, although he doesn’t understand why The Very Hungry Caterpillar is amusing.  He’s less pleased when the laughter leads to hacking coughs and Dean hunched over the bucket.  

Dean spits a few times to clear his mouth, then lifts his head and fixes Castiel with a tired smile.  “That’s a kid’s book, Cas.”

“I don’t understand how that decreases its entertainment value,” Castiel says.  “And the caterpillar is very much like you in that he’s always hungry.”

Dean laughs again, and while it still sounds like something is rattling in his chest, he doesn’t break into wet coughing again.  His crooked grin reveals pink tinged teeth against gray gums.  “I’m not all that hungry at the moment though.”

“That is beneficial since it seems you’re unable to keep anything down.”

Dean’s smile widens briefly and he nods.  “Yeah, no kidding.”

They fall silent for a moment, Dean breathing slow and deep while Castiel thinks about how to continue the conversation.  But the sound of wet feet against tile approaching brings his attention to the fact that the shower has stopped.  

Sam comes into view, hips wrapped in a towel and shoulders beaded with the water dripping from his hair.  He looks worried, his brows pulled together until the skin between them wrinkles, but he’s also smiling tentatively.  “How’s it going?”

Sighing, Dean sits up straighter.  “Nausea’s gettin’ better, but I still feel like roadkill.”

“At least that’s progress,” Sam says on a sigh that turns into a yawn.  He hides it behind his wrist, and shakes his head as if to clear it.  “I’m going to go get dressed and then I’ll come back and--”

“Nah dude,” Dean cuts in.  “Go get some sleep.”

“Dean--”

“I’m already past the worst part and I’ll be fine with Cas.  And it’s not like you’ll be far if we need any help.”

The crease between Sam’s brows deepens, and he stares at Dean for a long moment.  Then he turns to Cas.  “You come get me immediately if--”

“Yeah yeah, he will,” Dean grunts.

“Dean stop being an ass, I’m trying--”

This time Castiel cuts in, calculating that the brothers will continue non-stop since they keep cycling the same arguments.  “I will make sure Dean is fully taken care of, and I will retrieve you myself if Dean is unable to contact you.”

Sam’s shoulders droop and he rubs a hand over his mouth.  His hand drops back to his side and he nods.  “Okay.  Alright, I’ll… see if I can get a few hours and then I’ll check back with you.”

Soft good nights are exchanged, and then Castiel and Dean are alone again.  Dean’s breathing echoes slightly off the stall walls, enhancing the volume.

It hitches after a moment, and Dean’s hand grips Castiel’s arm lightly.  “Dude, how’s your charge?  There’s no way you’re full yet.”

Castiel checks.  “Forty-one percent.  I’ll be fine for a few hours.”

“There’s an outlet in here if you need to plug in.” Dean wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and grimaces at the pink tinge left behind on his skin.

Castiel hands him a clean washcloth from a stack Sam had left nearby.  “Would you like to talk about more books?” Castiel asks Dean doesn’t say anything more.

Dean is slouched down over his thighs again, head hanging over the bucket.  He’s taking long breaths through his teeth.  “Yeah, Cas.  Talk to me.”

Their discussion, which is mostly Castiel talking sharing the content of the stories he’s enjoyed, is interrupted several times as Dean’s illness reasserts its hold over him.  During one of the lulls Castiel swaps out the dirty bucket for a clean one so the smells won’t increase Dean’s nausea.  He also exchanges the IV bag with a fresh one Sam had left nearby, following Dean’s croaked instructions to make sure it’s dripping properly.  

Dean’s color seems to improve, but his eyelids droop more and more, and soon he’s leaning on Castiel’s shoulder to keep himself upright.  All signs that Castiel interprets as exhaustion.  

“Would you like to try sleeping?” Castiel asks when Dean is quiet for a long time.

“Feel too gross to sleep,” Dean mumbles.

Castiel picks up the last of the clean washcloths.  There are more, along with a stack of fresh towels, on the shelf above Dean’s cot on the other side of the room.  “I could give you a sponge bath.”

“Ugh, no,” Dean says, lifting his head and glaring at Castiel.  “This is humiliating enough, I don’t need you playing nurse for me.” He pauses, tilting his head in thought. “Unless it’s the sexy kind.”  Then he shakes his head.  “But I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it right now, and that’s not what you’re here for anyway.”

Castiel’s knowledge database includes many role play scenarios, and Dean’s words trigger one to load.  He doesn’t initiate it; shuts it back down immediately.  Dean isn’t asking for that kind of treatment and is in no shape for it.  But he remembers Dean’s response to Castiel while they were dancing, and it makes him consider whether or not nurse/patient role play is something they might do together in the future.  Dean has consistently made it clear that Castiel is not there to serve his sexual needs, but he’s never said anything about not participating in those activities if Castiel wants to.

Does he want to?  It’s something he’d like to consider at length, but he’s more concerned with Dean’s well being at the moment.  The decision will have to wait for another time.

He returns to finding a solution to Dean’s discomfort, a plan forms.  “I could assist you with a shower if you’d prefer,” he offers.

Dean lifts his head, and he looks more alert.  “Yeah… yeah, Cas that would be awesome.”

“Give me a few moments to prepare.  I’ll be right back.”  

After Dean’s murmured assent, Castiel leaves the stall and grabs a stack of towels to put closer to the showers.  He turns on the water and sets the temperature slightly cooler than human body temperature, then he makes sure the soaps and shampoos are within easy reach.

While he’s making the preparations, he hears Dean moving around.  The toilet buzzes as the incinerator below it activates, and by the time he’s finished his preparations, Dean is standing just outside the stall.  He’s leaning against it, head down and shoulders hunched, fingering the ties at the waist of his sleep pants, and he doesn’t look at Castiel as he approaches.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asks.

Dean tugs the strings, tightening the waistband instead of loosening it.  “Uh… about that.  I uh, I’m not at my best right now, so…”

When he doesn’t continue, Castiel dips his head to try and get a better look at Dean’s face.  “What’s wrong, Dean?”

Dean chews at his bottom lip for a moment, and he doesn’t look up when he answers.  “I dunno, Cas.  I guess I’m not feeling too comfortable getting naked right now.”

“You’ve been mostly naked since I joined you in here,” Castiel points out.  

That brings Dean’s head up, and he gives Castiel an exasperated look.  “Yeah, but it’s not like you’ve been able to stare at my junk the whole time.”

His words call up memories of Gabriel’s shop, but that doesn’t make sense in context of their current situation.  It must be another idiom Castiel doesn’t comprehend due to lack of data.  He scans through the last hour of memories, and finds context that correlates with Dean’s words.  “You don’t want me to see your penis?”

Dean’s head whips up and he stares hard at Castiel for the length of two seconds before he breaks out into a grin.  “Dude, it sounds so unsexy when you call it that.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, curious why the semantics are important.

“Uh, because you’re a _brothel android_?  Don’t you have a dictionary of dirty words loaded into your brain?”

“My language database does include alternate terms,” Castiel agrees.  “Would you prefer I refer to your penis as a cock, or a dick?”

A flush rises up in Dean’s cheeks, giving his skin a healthier hue.  “Gee, Cas, are those my only options?”

Castiel shakes his head.  “No, of course not.  There’s dong, and willy, meat stick, shaft--”

“Yeah yeah okay I got it,” Dean says loudly.  His grin is back, and he shakes his head too, but he doesn’t seem to be denying anything.  “How about right now we don’t call it anything while I’m this gross.”  He tugs at the strings at his waist again, but this time he loosens them.  “How in the hell do you have a whole database of dick slang, but you miss so many figures of speech?”

Castiel waits patiently for Dean to drop his pants and step out of them, but when his knees wobble slightly when he’s no longer leaning against the toilet stall, he steps forward to offer a supporting arm.  “I suppose my programmer felt the different terms for genitalia would be more important for my intended base functions.”

“Makes sense I guess,” Dean says on a huff of laughter.  He leans heavily against Castiel as they make their way to the shower, with Dean dragging the IV stand along with them.  Just before they reach the water, he stops, weakly tugging at Castiel’s arm.  “Dude, you can’t get in there wearing those jeans, you gotta take ‘em off first.”

Castiel looks down at his body.  He’s still wearing the pants Dean insisted he wear into the club, and he never bothered to put on a shirt after they left the place.  “Alright.  Can you stand by yourself for a moment?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”  His voice modulates oddly, in a way Castiel hasn’t heard before.

Castiel watches him for signs that he might need to vomit again, but his cheeks are still flushed with color instead of the pale white that preceded each instance of illness.  Since he seems alright for the moment, Castiel reaches for the fly of his jeans.  

“Shoes and socks too,” Dean says softly, and Castiel follows his instructions by toeing at the heels of his sneakers.

He tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and underwear, sweeping both down his hips and thighs.  When he hears a choking sound, he jerks his head up to check on Dean and finds him looking away, biting his bottom lip until it’s white under his teeth.  “Dean?  Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” Dean croaks out.  “Just wasn’t expecting you to get naked too.”

“I apologize,” Castiel says.  “I can stay partially clothed if you prefer.”

“No!” Dean winces when the word echoes loudly off the walls, and lowers his voice.  “It’s fine.  Gotta be naked to take a proper shower anyway.”

Despite Dean’s assurances, Castiel waits, giving him a moment to change his mind.  When none are forthcoming, he continues disrobing.  By the time he’s finished, Dean is swaying slightly from standing on his own for too long.  Dean silently accepts Castiel’s arm for support again, and together they step under the lukewarm spray.

He hisses softly and flinches away from the water at first, but then he relaxes into it with a sigh.  “Fuck, that’s good.”

Since Dean seems content to stand under the downpour Castiel just holds him steady. He watches as Dean turns his face up to the water and opens his mouth until it overflows, then spitting it all out in a long stream that splashes against the wall.  He repeats this a few times, sometimes closing his mouth and swishing the water inside his cheeks before spitting it out again.  

Beads of water catch in his eyelashes and in the lengthening stubble along his jaws, as well as settling on his cheeks like extra freckles.  Castiel watches those droplets as they grow too heavy to hold their position and slide down his face in random paths.  

When Dean finally pulls his face away from the spray, he wipes most of the water from his face and blinks through spiky eyelashes at Castiel.  His face creases into a frown and he looks away.  He reaches for a bar of soap and starts rolling it between his hands to create a lather, which he then starts spreading across his chest.  

The soap slips from his trembling fingers and clatters to the tiles between his feet, making him twitch backwards into Castiel’s chest.  With a sigh he drops his chin to his chest.  “Cas, can you grab that for me please?”

Castiel keeps a hand on Dean’s lower back to keep him braced while he bends down to get the soap, but he doesn’t put the bar in Dean’s open palm.  “Maybe it would be better if I do this for you.”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes a few times.  Then instead of saying anything he nods, but he keeps his eyes averted.  

Since he’s already crouched down, Castiel decides to start with Dean’s lower body.  Dean hands him a washcloth when he requests it, and he works the soap into the soft cloth before apply it to Dean’s skin.  He washes each foot, working between the toes and having him lift each foot so he can wash and rinse the soles, once he gets Dean’s confirmation that he’s not ticklish.  Dean’s breath hitches as he swipes the cloth across the arch of each foot, the only hint of sensitivity.

Then he moves on to Dean’s ankles, calves, and knees.  The suds rinse away almost immediately, flattening the light hair against his skin.  His thigh muscles tense under Castiel’s touch the higher he goes.  And then he’s washing between Dean’s legs, gently working the cloth over and around his soft genitals as well as behind them.

“This is definitely not the way I’d prefer to share a shower,” Dean mutters.

Castiel pauses and looks up.  Water splashes into his face and eyes, but he doesn’t bother to blink it away or brush it from his skin.  “What do you mean?”

Dean’s shoulders lift in a shrug.  “It’s not very sexy washing a sick guy is it?”

“Despite my programmed profession,” Castiel says, “I am indifferent to the sex appeal of my clients.”

“Oh,” Dean says softly.

Castiel frowns and zooms in on Dean’s expression.  He looks… disappointed.  Did he expect a different answer?

“You gonna just hold my dick, Cas?  Cuz if you’re hoping I’ll get hard, you’re gonna be disappointed. I’m not in any condition to get it up.”

The reminder is spoken harshly, and Castiel abandons his attempt to interpret Dean’s expression, focusing back on cleaning his skin.  He stands when he reaches Dean’s stomach and pulls him close so he can reach around and wash his buttocks and lower back.  

Dean gasps softly and leans into Castiel’s chest.  His head dips, and he rests his forehead on Castiel’s shoulder, and his hands come up to settle on Castiel’s hips.  

“Am I doing something wrong?” Castiel asks.

Rocking his head back and forth, Dean makes a negative sound in his throat.  “Sorry, I just… what you’re doing feels good.  But…”

“But what?” Castiel prompts.  He adds more soap to the cloth and runs it up Dean’s spine.

“I shouldn’t be enjoying it,” Dean whispers.  “I mean… I’m too sick to be turned on, but if I wasn’t…”

Castiel runs the washcloth back and forth across Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer in the process.  There’s no music and they’re not moving together in the rhythm of sex like they were at the club, but the way their bodies slide together with their breathing harkens back to that moment when Castiel’s body reacted to Dean’s as if it were preparing for intercourse.  

“You would want to initiate sexual intimacy,” Castiel says.

Dean chuckles, but doesn’t lift his head from Castiel’s shoulder.  “Well yeah.  You’re pretty hot, Cas.  And you just had my dick in your hands.  Gives a guy ideas, y’know.”

There’s no more of Dean’s body to wash without pushing him away to reach his chest, but Castiel doesn’t do so, instead running the cloth in circles between Dean’s shoulder blades because he can feel the muscles relax more with each pass.  “And you believe you shouldn’t want to have sex with me?”

“Can’t help what I want,” Dean murmurs.  “But I’d prefer it if you wanted it to.”

“I see.”

Castiel doesn’t have access to most of his past, but he does have a few days of memory from before he was sent to Naomi’s office for maintenance for the last time.  When she told him that she didn’t have patience for his malfunctions anymore, and shut him down in preparation for what he assumed would be another master reset.  His clients during that short period of time were demanding and unkind, getting worse when he questioned or denied them anything.

Dean is nothing like them.  He not only demands nothing of Castiel, but he treats him like an equal.  A friend, even.  Sometimes he laughs at Castiel’s lack of knowledge, or teases him for using a phrase wrong, but he seems to enjoy Castiel’s mistakes and is happy to contribute to his education instead of condemning him or getting impatient.  

And even though he is clearly attracted to Castiel, he doesn’t act on it because he doesn’t think his attentions would be welcome.  

Maybe they wouldn’t have been at first, but now Castiel feels differently.  “I’m not opposed to having sex with you,” he says into the silence between them.

All the muscles under his hands tense, and Dean lifts his head.  His eyes still look damaged, although the red is starting to recede as nanobots slowly repair the broken blood vessels.  They flicker back and forth as he stares at Castiel from up close.  “Really?”

Castiel drags the washcloth up over the back of Dean’s neck, and around to his throat.  He massages gently, watching closely as Dean’s pupils expand and his jaw goes slack.  The positive reaction to Castiel’s touch makes him want to do more to make Dean feel good.  

“Yes, really,” Castiel agrees.  “If you’re still interested after you’ve recovered, we can discuss it.”

Dean licks his lips, and nods.  “O-okay.”

They both fall silent again as Castiel finishes washing and rinsing Dean’s body.  Then he allows Dean to lean against him and enjoy the water beating down between his shoulders for several minutes.  When Dean’s limbs begin to tremble, Castiel turns off the water and quickly dries him off and helps him over to the cot where he collapses in exhaustion.  After making sure that the IV pole is close enough but not in the way, Castiel helps him pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and then tucks a pillow under his head and a blanket around his shoulders.

He expects Dean to sleep, but instead green eyes watch him as he goes about cleaning up the surrounding space.  At a whispered request, he puts a clean bucket next to the cot.

“You should get dressed,” Dean murmurs.  “Sam comes in here while you’re prancing around naked and he’ll freak.”

“I’m not prancing,” Castiel points out, but before he can explain why the terminology is incorrect, he catches a flash of Dean’s teeth.  The mischievous smile calls a response from Castiel and he smiles back in return.  “That was a joke.”

Dean’s grin widens, crinkling the skin around his eyes.  “You got it, buddy.”

He mimics an expression Dean and Sam often make when Castiel does something they think is funny, rolling his eyes to the ceiling briefly, and is pleased when Dean chuckles.  “I need to retrieve clean clothing.  Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“Yeah, I’m good for now.”

Castiel nods his understanding and leaves the bathroom.  He hears Dean laughing behind him, and almost turns back to find out why.  But it would be a more efficient use of his time to wait until he’s clothed and ask when he returns.  

His new clothes are still in the garage, but his battery is back down to twenty-four percent, so to conserve power he only goes to his room.  There’s only his robe and a pair of white cotton boxer shorts, so he dons both.  Before he leaves his room he pauses and looks at the pile of books next to his bed.  He picks up the one on top, an old west adventure that he chose after Dean made him watch several movies set in the same time period, and tucks it in the pocket of his robe before leaving the room.

Dean is still awake when Castiel returns.  He watches silently as Castiel opens his chest and connects his battery to the cord he’d brought with him from the garage earlier.  Castiel settles down at the foot of the cot, careful not to sit on Dean’s feet.

“You should sleep,” he says.

Dean sighs, and sits up.  He keeps his eyes on his own knees when he speaks.  “Can I touch you, Cas?”

Castiel tilts his head, but the new angle doesn’t provide him any new information on what Dean’s thinking.  Curiosity guides his answer.  “Yes, of course.”

Instead of reaching out, Dean moves the bucket near Castiel’s knees then lies back down but with his head on Castiel’s thigh instead of the pillow.  He tilts his head back enough to look up at Castiel.  “Is this okay?”

It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome.  “Yes.”

Dean’s lips twist up in a small smile and he settles back down, shifting until he’s comfortable and pushing Castiel’s power cord away from his head.  Castiel isn’t sure where to put his hands, but since Dean seemed to enjoy his touch in the shower, he rests one on the side of Dean’s neck and massages the back with his thumb.

“Hnnn, ‘s nice,” Dean slurs.

With that encouragement, Castiel spreads out the small massage, sweeping his thumb from the base of Dean’s skull to the bottom of his neck and back.

“Hey Cas?” Dean whispers after a few minutes.  “What’d you say to Sam to get him off my back?”

It’s a figure of speech Castiel recognizes from a movie he’d watched with Dean, although he does wonder briefly if Sam had physically climbed on Dean’s back while Castiel was in sleep mode.  That doesn’t make sense in context, so he assumes the idiom is the correct interpretation.  “I told him what happened at the club.”

“That’s it?” Dean asks, his tone indicating he didn’t expect Castiel’s answer.

“I also explained the logic behind your decisions, as well as my own.  He did not have a valid counter argument.”

Dean chuckles.  “You Vulcan’d him. Nice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sorry, Star Trek reference.”

Castiel nods even though Dean isn’t looking at him.  “Sam said I should ask you to watch it with me.”

“Hell yeah.”  The words are quiet, but there’s still an underpinning of enthusiasm.  It makes Castiel move Star Trek up in his priorities.  If Dean is excited about it, then Castiel is interested in learning more.

Dean goes quiet and his breathing soon evens out.  Not more than a few minutes later a soft snore emanates from the back of his throat.

Castiel’s battery will charge faster if he goes back into sleep mode, but he wants to be fully aware in case Dean wakes up and needs him.  And he since he experienced a series of errors the last time he was asleep, it’s best if he avoids going into a mode where he might experience them again while it’s important that he be fully functional.  So he pulls out his book and opens to where he left off, eager to experience a new story he can discuss with Dean when he wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grandparents owned a cabin without plumbing, so they had to truck in water. Because of that, they didn't have a flushing toilet. They had this nifty thing that had a built in incinerator instead, and the ashes could be used to fertilize the garden. I figure that'd be a good option in a bunker built to survive a world after ecological collapse. They're off the city grid, so they've gotta preserve water for stuff like shower cuddling :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas wants to have that talk.

“So you’re telling me that the giant sex toy managed to take down a gen-one vamp, without taking a single scratch?”

Sam rolls his shoulders in a shrug.  “He’s not exactly walking around naked so I can’t tell for sure, but he said he wasn’t damaged when I asked, and I didn’t insist on an examination.”

“Did he start wearing pants?” Gabriel asks before peeling a sucker out of its wrapper and popping it into his mouth.

“No,” Sam says on a sigh.  At least the android typically wears his blue robe most of the time.  “Must be a holdover from working in a brothel.”

Gabriel makes a thoughtful noise around the sucker in his mouth before pulling it free with a slurping noise and examining the neon blue candy like it holds the secrets to world domination.  “You gotta admit he’s pretty badass. Beating vampire ass is not exactly the kind of skill you’d expect from a sexbot.”

And that’s exactly why Sam is still worried about Castiel.  The android is polite, and in many ways very naive due to his lack of long term memories.  His childlike curiosity is endearing despite Sam’s suspicions.  Plus it’s hard to dismiss the way he’d taken care of Dean during his illness.  When Sam had woken from a longer nap than he’d intended, he’d found Dean practically curled up in Castiel’s lap, sound asleep and utterly trusting.

Castiel’s fingers never stopped petting through Dean’s hair the whole time he whispered a report about Dean’s condition.  With Dean snoring and practically dead to the world, the gentle touch wouldn’t have been something he’d even be aware of, but Castiel offered comfort anyway.  It had been a jarring enough sight that Sam had missed part of Castiel’s words and had to ask him to repeat himself.

The android’s inquisitive and seemingly gentle behavior is a direct contrast to the violence he’s also apparently capable of.  And Sam wonders if Castiel has been programmed with skills that wouldn’t be required of a sex bot.  

“What if he’s not just a sexbot?” Sam asks.  

Gabriel’s holo projection has been lounging next to Sam on the bed, but now he sits up and shakes out his digital wings.  He peers hard at Sam.  “Angel Industries pretty much only manufactures companion androids, so what else do you think he might be?”

Sam rubs a hand over his face, then up through his hair, pulling it tight against his scalp.  “What if they’re building, I dunno… assassin ‘droids or something?  They obviously have the tech to make them look completely human.”

“Murdered during sex by a sexbot.”  Gabriel sighs longingly and tucks his sucker back in this mouth, where it bulges under his cheek.  “What a great way to go.”  He laughs and makes his holo translucent when Sam tries to poke him in the side for being horrible.  Giving his holo physical feedback again, he slaps Sam’s hand away before plopping back down on the bed, this time with his head pillowed against Sam’s chest.  “Maybe it’s a self defense program for clients that get a little too rowdy, and you’re being paranoid,” he says around the sucker.

That’s a valid possibility, but Sam’s not ready to let his guard down completely until he knows for sure.  “Have you heard anything from Charlie yet?”

“Nada.”

It’s only been a few days, and Sam does his best to feign patience.  If he starts bugging her for updates, he’ll only slow her down.  To distract himself, he pulls up news sites and starts scanning for possible hunts.

“And how’s Dean?” Gabriel asks as he watches Sam’s data stream.  “He recover okay?”

Sam sighs and rubs a hand over his face.  “He seems fine, although I can only take his word for it.  Not that he’ll let me see his health diagnostics from his nanites.  You know how he is.  I’d have to tie him down and threaten to destroy something in his workshop to get him to be honest.”

“Kinky.”

“Gross.”

Gabriel grins around his sucker, unrepentant, but he drops the teasing.  “If he says he’s fine, he’s probably fine.  You’ve both been through too much really bad shit to lie about the serious stuff.”

It’s true, which is why Sam hasn’t resorted to torturing answers out of Dean yet.  And a gen-one vamp infection isn’t the worst thing they’ve survived.  The life of a Hunter is usually shorter than the average lifespan for a reason.    “Yeah I-”

He’s cut off by a soft knock at the door.  It’s far too polite to be Dean, who would have pounded and yelled in an effort to startle Sam.  The only other person in the bunker is Castiel, so Sam isn’t surprised to see the android when he calls out that it’s okay to come in.

What does surprise him is that Castiel isn’t wearing his blue robe today.  Instead he’s wearing an orange and yellow sundress that flows softly around his ankles as he enters the room.  Sam had been kidding about Dean getting Cas a dress, and he’s pretty sure Dean wouldn’t have taken him seriously anyway, so he suspects that the dress was Castiel’s choice.  Especially since it’s primarily orange, which seems to be Castiel’s favorite color.

“Hey, Cas,” he says.  “You look nice today.”

“Fancy,” Gabriel agrees cheerfully.

Castiel stops a few steps inside the door and looks down at his body.  His hands smooth the fabric over his belly and hips, and a smile hovers around the corners of his mouth.  “Thank you, Sam.  I’m very pleased with this outfit.”

“Because it’s orange?” Sam asks with a laugh.

He receives a wider smile, one of the seemingly rare ones that show teeth.  “Yes,” Castiel answers simply.

“What’s with the orange?” Gabriel asks.

Castiel doesn’t react to the question, not even looking in Gabriel’s direction.  Which makes sense, since Castiel still can’t connect to the overnet.  “It’s Castiel’s favorite color,” Sam says with a glance at Gabriel’s holo.  

“He has a favorite color?” Gabriel asks dubiously before rolling his sucker across his tongue to tuck into the opposite cheek.  

“Seems so,” Sam answers.

Castiel’s smile turns into a confused frown and his eyes flick around the room, before landing once again on Sam.  “I apologize, I don’t understand.  You appear to be conversing with someone else, but I’m the only person here.”

“Oh my god,” Gabriel stage whispers.  “He looks like a confused turkey.”

The tilt of Castiel’s head when he’s confused has always reminded Sam of a puppy, but now that Gabriel’s compared him to a bird, he can’t unsee it.  He snorts a laugh and elbows Gabriel’s holo in admonishment that he should be nice, but he addresses his next words to Castiel.  “I’m on a hologram connection with Gabriel and we’re not set to private.  He can see and hear you because I can, but you can’t see him since you don’t have an overnet connection.”

Which Sam still needs to look into.  But he’s afraid to poke too hard at Castiel’s security systems.  He doesn’t know what he’ll unlock or if doing so will change something in Castiel’s personality.  The last thing he wants is to trigger some kind of self destruct system.  Or worse, get yelled at by Dean for breaking his new buddy’s brain.

The frown smoothes from Castiel’s expression, and he again looks around the room as if trying to find Gabriel anyway.  “Hello Gabriel.”

“He is _adorable,_ ” Gabriel coos.  “No wonder Dean treats him like a pet.”

Sam throws Gabriel a silencing look, and gets a cheeky grin in return.  

“Dude, don’t give me the bitchface,” Gabriel whines.  “Put me up on a screen so I can talk to him.”

There’s a vid projector against the far wall, although Sam doesn’t use it very often.  It only takes a thought to power it on, and then he transfers his connection with Gabriel to the screen.  Gabriel’s avatar fades from Sam’s bed, and appears glowing and larger than life on the wall, and he pulls the sucker from his mouth with a slurp before saying brightly, “Heya Castiel!  I’m Gabriel--Sam’s _better_ half.  Nice to meet you finally.”

Castiel’s confused squint comes back and he steps closer peering up at the projected image.  “Hello Gabriel,” he murmurs.  “You have… wings?”

“Oh these?”  Gabriel flutters the wings around his shoulders.  “Nah, they’re just for my online avatar.  Here, look.”  His image on the screen changes, the golden wings disappearing and his clothes becoming grungy and wrinkled.  The glow fades from his irises, and his hair loses some of its fullness.  He holds his hands out to his sides.  “Tada!  This is the real me.”

Sam watches Castiel with interest as he lifts his hand towards the projection before cautiously dropping it back to his side.  “Why do you change the way you look?” he asks.

“Because I like to be pretty, duh,” Gabriel answers flippantly.  “Not all of us can be hot studs like you, buddy.”

“You should give yourself more credit,” Castiel intones.  “I was built for maximum sexual appeal, but your natural human aesthetics are highly appealing as well.”

Gabriel presses a palm against his chest, and gives an exaggerated gasp.  “Are you flirting with me?”  He turns his attention to Sam and waggles his brows.  “Watch out, he’s trying to steal your boyfriend.”

“I’m merely stating the way I perceive your physical attributes,” Castiel says, features pulling into a confused frown.  “Is that ‘flirting’?” He even adds finger quotes.

Sam can’t help it.  Castiel’s naive confusion is hilarious, especially considering his intended purpose, and he bursts into laughter.  Gabriel joins in, and the way Castiel’s head swivels back and forth between them is just gravy.  He’s mildly out of breath by the time he manages to tame his amusement, and he grins fondly at the android.  “Sorry, Cas, you didn’t come in here to be teased.  Was there something you needed?”

Castiel’s confused squint smoothes away and one side of his mouth lifts in a smile that’s oddly similar to one of Dean’s expressions.  “I suppose if your happiness is the result, then I don’t mind being teased.  I find your laughter very pleasing.”  The statement sends a surprising curl of warmth through Sam’s chest, but Castiel continues before he can examine the feeling.  “I did come here with a purpose though.”

“I’ll get of your hair so you guys can talk, and so I can get some actual work done today.  See you tonight for some hot steamy cybersexin’, Samshine!  Stay sassy, Cassie!” Gabriel winks and waggles his fingers in a wave, and then his image disappears from the display, leaving a bluish glow overlaying the brick wall.  A simple text message with a kissy face emoji punctuates the sensation of Gabriel disconnecting from their session.

“Okay, what’s up?” Sam prompts.

Castiel turns away from the blank display, and the squint is back.  “Have you seen Dean today?”

“Yeah, this morning.”  Very briefly.  Dean had scooted past Sam and out the door with a mumbled ‘morning, Sammy’, the scent of coffee lingering in his wake.  He hasn’t seen him since then, but the bunker is a big place meant for a lot more than the two--three now with Castiel--people inhabiting the place.  It’s not unusual for them to barely cross paths.  

“Oh. I must have missed him,” Castiel murmurs.  He looks disappointed, and Sam marvels at the genius behind his programming, even as he hopes they’re not an Evil Genius.

“What’s bothering you, Cas?” Sam asks.

The android doesn’t exactly fidget, but somehow his stance gives off the impression that he might at any moment.  “Evidence suggests that Dean is avoiding me.”

Sam’s eyebrows go up in surprise, and he goes over his memories of the last few days since Dean’s infection.  He has been pretty scarce, more so that usual.  Sam’s been assuming it was because he didn’t want to be pestered about his health, but he’s not sure why Dean would avoid Castiel too.  “Uh, what evidence?”

“After the night of his illness, I’ve only spoken to him once,” Castiel explains.  “He seemed unwilling to speak, and left quickly.  Since then, the few times I’ve seen him, he’s immediately left whatever room I found him in.  It didn’t seem polite to follow.”

That sounds exactly like Dean’s M.O.  And knowing his brother, Sam suspects it’s because Dean’s probably embarrassed about something.  Most likely the weakened state Castiel saw him in, because Dean’s never completely dropped the macho act he learned from their father.  He’s usually less anal about it with just Sam, but they’ve been tucked in each other’s pockets for far too long for Dean to keep up the charade when it’s just them.  Despite only being an android with buggy software, Castiel probably triggers Dean’s instinct to leap into hiding behind the walls he usually keeps up for everyone else.

Especially since Dean obviously has a nerd crush on said android.

Sighing, Sam gets up from his bed and approaches Castiel.  He clasps the android on the shoulder, and turns him toward the door.  “Dean’s favorite hiding place is in the garage under one of his classic cars.  Go find him, and follow him around until he talks to you.  He’s a stubborn bastard, but if you corner him he’ll talk.”  Or he’ll lash out, but Sam is pretty sure Dean will take it easy on Castiel.  At least the first time.  

“That seems like an uncomfortable place to hide,” Castiel says as he allows Sam to guide him out of the room.

Sam snickers at the mental image of Dean hiding under his beloved Impala the way a scared kid would hide under a bed, but he doesn’t bother to clarify what he meant.  “If he’s a dick to you, don’t take it personally.  Just be patient with him.”

“Of course,” Castiel agrees as he steps out into the hall.  “Thank you for the advice.”

“Anytime, Cas.”  Sam watches the android until he disappears around a corner, and then goes back into his room.  

As he settles back on his bed, he almost wishes he could be a fly on the wall for Castiel’s confrontation with Dean.  Some areas of the bunker have vid cams, and he could probably link into one and watch, but he’s not going to actually invade their privacy.  Still, it would probably make for great entertainment.

With Gabriel gone back to work and nothing else to occupy his time for the moment, Sam logs back onto the overnet news archives and starts scanning.  He always hopes to not find a hunt, but knows it’s just a matter of time until does.  The world is always ending for someone, somewhere out there.

***

The ancient gas powered Chevy Impala is in pristine condition.  Mostly because there’s little reason to move it from its parking place in the garage, but also because Dean is meticulous about keeping her that way.  There’s really no reason for him to be tinkering with the spark plugs, or checking for rust in the undercarriage, or any of the other myriad little things that would keep a car like this running in the century it was built for.  

And she certainly doesn’t need another wash and wax, but here he is wiping down the windshield with a soft sponge anyway, sudsy water washing away the tiny particles of dust that get through the cloth he keeps her under most of the time.  But checking her over for the umpteenth time still gives him something to focus on besides his own brain.  Usually.  This time the thoughts aren’t so easily pushed to the side.

Vague memories of the night he was dosed with vamp blood float through his mind.  Sam whispering reassurances in between muttered threats to kill him if he isn’t more careful with himself don’t bother him as much as the ones about Castiel nursing him through the night, patiently helping him from cot to toilet to shower and back several times in between naps.  

Those ones always make his skin heat with humiliation.  Sure, he knows Castiel is a robot and probably doesn’t understand that Dean was more than just physically uncomfortable, but his logical mind doesn’t always override his inner crushing teen.  Nobody wants to be sick like that in front of someone they wanna bang, right?  

And then there’s the other memories.  Of gentle hands on his skin, and in his hair.  A low voice reading an old Western novel out loud to him when he couldn’t go back to sleep despite his exhaustion.  Unblinking eyes watching him; concerned, without a hint of judgement.  

Those memories warm him for a whole host of other reasons that he _definitely_ doesn’t want to think about.   

So what does he do?  

Yeah his brain is a fucking traitor, and if he didn’t need it he’d dig it out through his ears.

He moves from the windshield to the Impala’s hood, humming along with the bouncy Taylor Swift song playing loudly from the speakers on his work bench on the far side of the garage.  A thought turns up the volume.  Maybe if it’s louder he’ll be able to take the song’s message to heart and finally shake it off.

Once he’s got his baby cleaned and polished on the outside, he gets his leather care kit and moves to the inside.  He’s finished the back seat and is working on the front, bopping his head along with the Aerosmith that’s popped up in his playlist, when he’s interrupted.

“Sam said you’d be under the car, but inside seems to be a far more comfortable option.”

Dean had managed to finally sink into the mindlessness of his work, so he’s startled by Castiel’s sudden presence.  He knocks his head against the car’s dash as he straightens too quickly, and he blinks up at the android standing over him.  The embarrassment and shame that he’d forgotten while he worked comes rushing back, along with a wave of heat to his cheeks.  

“Oh hey, Cas.  Uh, what’s up?”  Dammit he’d managed to avoid seeing Castiel for the last few days, thanks to the large size of the bunker and all it’s interconnected routes that allow him to sneak around undetected.  Granted the garage and his workshop are probably obvious places to look for him, but this is the first time Castiel’s shown up here and Dean had become complacent.

“We haven’t had the opportunity to speak since you were sick,” Castiel says.  “How are you feeling?”

Fuck, that’s definitely a call out.  Castiel didn’t come right out and say he knows Dean’s been avoiding him, but it’s there between the lines.  

There’s also the possibility that he’s being paranoid and there’s no subtext for Dean to read into, but his guilty conscious kicks that idea to the curb.  

“I’m fine,” he hedges, as he straightens from his crouch.  He avoids Castiel’s gaze, searching out possible escape routes, but he’s caged by the Impala’s open door and the android’s bulk.  “Good as new.”

“You certainly look better.”  Castiel inches closer, and Dean’s eyes snap to his.  The irises rotate in and out, focusing or adjusting for light, or just zooming in on Dean’s mask until he can see right past it.  “Your eyes are healed,” he points out--needlessly, since Dean has access to mirrors.  His hand comes up and his fingers trace a line across one of Dean’s cheeks, leaving a tingling trail behind and reminding him of all the other places on his body Castiel already touched.  “Your color is better, but you’re flushed.  I should check your temperature.”

Dean doesn’t know what Castiel has planned with the single finger he holds up, but he’s not about to find out.  He slaps Castiel’s hand away and squeezes past him into the open space of the garage.  “I’m _fine,_ ” he grunts as he starts putting away the rag and cleaner he’d been using on the car’s seats.  “It’s just a little warm in here and I’ve been moving around a lot.”  Which is true, but definitely not the reason for his red face.

“Should you be working this much?” Castiel asks from right at Dean’s shoulder, making him jump again and spin to face him.  Dude is stealthy as fuck.  “My understanding of human anatomy is limited to providing sexual pleasure, but my BDSM database has a subcategory on aftercare and it indicates that rest is important after stressing the body past its usual limits.”

“Uh…” There’s far less distance between them than he expected, and it shorts out Dean’s brain.  His eyes drop to Castiel’s lips, which are within kissing range, while his brain tries to reroute blood from his dick to his head and attempts a reboot.  

“Dean?”

It’s really unfair how sexy Castiel’s voice is.  It brings back several of the more pleasant memories he’s been trying not to think about.  Especially the ones from the shower when Castiel’s bare body pressed against his while he murmured encouragement and instructions.  His skin is suddenly ultra sensitive, and the soft t-shirt and ragged cut off shorts he’d thrown on first thing in the morning become an uncomfortable weight.  Too heavy, too light, and one too many layers between him and Castiel.  

Then his brain catches up with what Castiel just said.  “Wait, you have a BDSM database?”

Castiel nods.  “Of course.  Both Domming and subbing were common requests from my clients.”

If Dean’s brain was positronic like Castiel’s he’s sure he’d have sparks coming out of his ears.  “You can do both?” he croaks.

“Yes.”  Castiel frowns, and somehow finds the space to move closer while still not touching.  “Dean, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes!”  It’s too loud, making his voice echo across the spacious area.  

Dean takes a large step back, and turns away to fiddle with whatever he can find on his work bench.  There’s plenty of loose tools and scrap materials because he’s been too scatterbrained to keep things as orderly as he prefers.  He starts clearing away the clutter, grateful that he has something to occupy his fingers.  “Really, Cas, I’m fine.  Got my appetite back and everything.”

And his sex drive apparently.  His shorts, chosen for comfort, are now tight and restrictive, and he keeps his back to Castiel while he wills his dick to chill the fuck out.  

There’s a few beats of silence, and tension builds up in Dean’s shoulders.  He can feel the weight of Castiel’s stare.  His thin t-shirt does nothing as a shield because Castiel has seen everything under it, and without a master rest it’s not like he’s going to forget any time soon.  Dean’s not body shy in the least, but after what happened…

“Dean… have I done something wrong?”

That brings Dean’s head around with a snap.  “What?  No?  Why would you think that?”

Castiel’s irises rotate slowly for the brief moment they lock eyes, and then his gaze drops to the floor.  The blue disappears behind dark lashes, and Castiel actually bites lightly at his bottom lip.  It would be sexy if it weren’t blowing Dean’s mind with the realism of the gesture, while also freaking him out because he feels like he kicked a kitten.

“Since the night you were ill, your actions are avoidant,” Castiel says.  “If you don’t wish for me to be in your presence anymore I will comply.”

Shit.  Now Dean feels like an asshole.  He sighs, and lets his shoulders drop, then rolls his head back and forth to stretch the sore muscles.  “Alright yeah, I’ve been avoiding you,” he admits, before lifting his head and looking at Castiel.  The android lifts his eyes, and fuck if he doesn’t look like his feelings are hurt.  “It’s not because of you, though.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m just…”

He jams his fingers through his hair and digs them into the back of his head.  God, how does one go about explaining how much of a fuckup they are to a robot?  “I’m just embarrassed, dude,” he finally says in a burst.  “That was me at practically rock bottom.  Can’t get much worse than uncontrollable bodily functions in front of a guy I have the hots for, y’know?”

Castiel’s head tilts, a frown pulling at his handsome features.  “But we already discussed this.  You have no reason to be embarrassed.”

Dean groans and drops his head back against his shoulders, silently beseeching the steel rafters above him for strength.  “It’s not just the gross stuff, Cas.  It’s the--” he rolls his hand around, trying to urge the right word out of his head, “--the _weakness._  Letting you coddle me. Man, that’s not who I am.  I’m not _like that._ ”

The frown deepens, accompanied by a squint.  “You’re upset because you appeared weak?”

“I _was_ weak,” Dean argues.  “I can’t be like that.”

Castiel stares at him like he’s trying to decode a Mohenjo-daro text.  “Yes, you were weak, but it was a condition forced on you.  Anyone who judges you harshly for that is utterly incorrect in their thinking.  And so are you, if you continue to view yourself in such a negative light.  You needed my care, and I would gladly give it again under similar circumstances.”

“No I didn’t need you,” Dean mumbles, like a damn idiot.  

“If I hadn’t been taking care of you, Sam would have.”

It’s true, and it cracks the foundation of Dean’s argument.  “Only because he’s a stubborn bastard and wouldn’t let me get away from him.”

Castiel’s frown smooths away, replaced by a crooked smile.  “Well then, I too, am a stubborn bastard.  I would not have allowed you to fend for yourself in that condition.” He moves back into Dean’s personal space, close enough that they have to tilt their heads to keep looking at each other, and  Castiel's dress brushes Dean's shins.  “No matter how much of a stubborn bastard you tried to be about it.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes.  “We’re three of a kind, aren’t we?”

“Indeed.” Castiel’s smile widens, baring his teeth and the pink of his tongue between them.  

The expression is downright flirty, and now Dean is tensing up for a completely different reason.  “Cas, we talked about this.  Personal space?”

Castiel’s chin tilts and his eyes flick down to take in the spare inches between them.  But he doesn’t move away.  “Dean,” he says softly, looking back up through his lashes again.  “Do you still wish to have sex with me?”

He has to clear his throat to answer.  “Yes, but uh… like I said the other night, only if you want to.”  The nasty voice in the back of his head that’s been telling him for the last few days that Castiel couldn’t possibly want him after seeing him like that is finally silent.

The brush of Castiel’s fingers over Dean’s forearm is startling.  The touch is barely anything, just a skin to skin connection, but it lights up nerves all the way up to Dean’s shoulder.  “I’ve been thinking about it since we danced at the club.”

Dean’s eyes go wide, and the air freezes in his lungs.  “You have?” he squeezes out.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees.  His fingers are still lightly petting Dean’s arm, and he makes no move to initiate further contact.  “I’ve never been given a choice, or had the opportunity to want something for myself.” Unblinking, he holds Dean in his orbit with his stare.  “You’ve given me the choice.”

The space between them is narrowing, and Dean can feel the warm puffs of Castiel’s breath against his lips.  “So it’s true what they say about consent being sexy, huh?”

“I don’t know who ‘they’ are,” Castiel murmurs, so close now that all Dean really sees is blurry blue.  “But they’re very wise.”

A grin twitches at Dean’s lips.  “Yeah,” he breathes against Castiel’s lips just before they touch.

His eyes slip closed at the first tingling touch of their lips.  The contact is barely anything, more the sensation of electrons jumping between them than any actual pressure.  Dean wants to grab and crush Castiel’s mouth under his, but this is Castiel’s show, and he’s just along for the ride.

He has the feeling that it’s going to be one doozy of a ride, too.

Castiel’s fingers wrap around Dean’s forearm, his thumb pressing into Dean’s skin, and still they’re not kissing, just hovering close, passing air back and forth.  It’s driving him out of his damn mind.  A small noise escapes his throat when Castiel’s lips part further, and--

“Hey Dean, are you in here?”

Jerking back, Dean sucks in a deep breath and swings around to find Sam trotting up the short set of stairs from the main bunker to the garage.  He stops at the top and brushes the hair out of his eyes, giving Dean a suspicious look.  “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Dean squeaks, then clears his throat and tries again.  “We’re fine.  What’s up, you need something?”

Sam’s eyes bounce from Dean to Castiel standing at his shoulder.  There’s a hundred burning questions in his eyes, but for once he opts not to voice any of them.  “I found a hunt.  You were set on Do Not Disturb, so I came to see if you feel up to checking it out?”

A hunt!  Dean can handle a hunt, yes.  “Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

“Yes,” Castiel adds.  “I’d very much like to go.”

Dean jerks around to face him.  “Really?”

Sam comes further into the room, expression wary.  “I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks him.  “Having a third person would have made our encounter with the Ruby Drop dealers and the vampire less dangerous.  I could be your third wheel.”

Sam snorts and bites his lip to hide a smile, his eyes finding Dean’s.  Even without digital communication, his amusement at Castiel’s words is clear.

“You know that’s not a good thing, right?” Dean asks, trying to hold back his own laughter.

“Of course it is,” Castiel argues.  “A third wheel adds extra grip, greater stability.”

“You don’t really know what you’re doing.” Sam points out.  He’s no longer trying to hide his amusement, but he’s serious about the point he’s making.

“I will learn,” Castiel says firmly.  And then he smiles, a big toothy grin that plays havoc with Dean’s heartbeat.  “I’m going to become a Hunter.”

Dean sends Sam a questioning look.  He’s all for it.  Cas has already saved his bacon once, and the stubborn bastard probably won’t take no for an answer anyway.  

Sam sighs, and shrugs.  “Alright, well I guess we’re going to have to suit you up and make you some IDs.”

Castiel’s grin could light the room.  

It certainly lights up a few of the dim corners of Dean’s heart.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going so long without an update. Writing is hard.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will go on a Hunt.

Any other hunt, Dean and Sam would have been out of the bunker and nearly to their destination already, but with their new _third wheel_ there are extra preparations to make.  Not only is Castiel a newbie, but he’s also completely unconnected, which means that he needs a phone.  

Dean digs roughly through the drawer that houses all their old spares, looking for one that will be appropriate for the android.  Most of them are bricked for one reason or another, but Dean’s kept them for parts, and he’s glad now that he didn’t dump them all on Gabriel for cash.  “Dude, we need to get some new burners.”  

Nearby, Sam is bent over the I.D. badge he’s creating for Castiel.  “Can’t you just modify Castiel’s audio chip to receive calls?” he asks without looking up from his own project.  

“Yeah--Jesus are any of these _not_ cracked?--it’s not hard.  But it’s delicate work, and I don’t want to fuck over his hearing by doing a rush job.” Finally Dean finds an appropriate device, and he holds it up with a triumphant “AHA!  This’ll work.”

He pops off the back, and swaps out the activation chip with a fresh one.  When he powers it on, it’s got half a battery, which is plenty to work with for now.  He goes into the phone’s boot menu and starts tweaking its settings to work with the cloned chip.  

Sam sits up and holds Castiel’s new badge under a lamp, turning it in the light to make sure the holographics look accurate.  “Are you sure bringing him with us is a good idea?”

Dean looks over at his brother, stifling his knee jerk reaction to say that of course it’s a good idea.  “What exactly are you worried about?  He’s not the first newbie hunter we’ve trained.”

With a sigh, Sam sets the badge down and runs fingers through his overlong hair.  If he wants to look like a federal agent instead of an old time hippy, he needs to cut it soon.  He meets Dean’s gaze with a grimace.  “Don’t you think it’s weird that someone just junked such an expensive android?  I mean, if he was malfunctioning enough to require all those resets, why not send him back to the manufacturer?”

“Maybe his warranty’s up,” Dean points out.  Although even if he couldn’t be returned, he could at least be sold for parts to make up for losses.  Dean was planning on doing the same if he couldn’t get Cas up and running.

He squirms on his stool, uncomfortable thinking of Castiel as a bunch of parts with a credit value.  It’s not that he forgets that Castiel is an android--there are constant reminders--but he can’t think of Cas as something less than a _person_ anymore.  

“Maybe.” Sam taps his long fingers on the workbench, eyes focused on the far distance.  “I just think that there’s more to him than what he’s telling us, or even that he knows about himself.”

“Maybe,” Dean parrots.  “But he saved my ass from that vamp, and I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Sam refocuses on him.  “Even if it’s an assassin-bot backing you up instead of a sex-bot?”

Assassin-bot or not, Dean can’t muster up much concern.  Castiel hates pants and loves anything orange.  He sits quietly through any movie Dean wants to watch, and reads kids books and romance novels.  The fact that he’s able to dish out a little violence should worry Dean, but instead it just makes the android more attractive.  He’s always had a thing for the anti-heros, and goofy nerds, so Castiel’s practically built to be his type.  

And it’s not like Dean has any room to judge someone harshly for having the ability to kill, not with how many lives he’s terminated in his line of work.  And just about everyone he’s close to has done the same, so really--Cas fits right in with his fucked up social circle.

“Even if he’s got some badass assassination program hiding in his code, he’s on our side.  He’s our friend.”  

“I hope you’re right.” Sam’s quiet for a moment, lost in thoughts that he doesn’t share, which is fine because Dean really doesn’t want to get into an argument. But then his frown fades and he gives Dean a sly smile.  “You sure you guys are just friends?”

Jerking his head up, Dean levels Sam with a warning glare.  “Yes.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says all innocent-like as he goes back to work on Castiel’s badge.  “Sure looked like it when I came in here earlier.”

“You didn’t see a damn thing,” Dean asserts.

Sam’s lips twitch.  “Oh I saw something alright.”

Dean opens his mouth for what he’s sure is going to be an absolutely stunning come-back, but the sound of footsteps interrupt him.  He and Sam both turn to see Castiel come up the steps from the bunker, fully dressed in his own shirt and slacks with one of Dean’s blazers and Sam’s blue tie, and his new trench coat over all of it.  He’s even combed down his perpetually messy hair.

Despite the slightly ill-fitting jackets, the sight of Castiel suited up makes Dean’s mouth go dry.  He looks like a nerdy tax accountant, but Dean knows exactly what’s under all those layers, and even his hazy memories from their shower together are enough to fuel fantasies of stripping him down and--

An elbow in the ribs brings his attention back to the here and now, and he responds to Sam’s smug look with a mental middle finger.

 _Dean and Castiel, sitting in a tree,_ Sam sing-songs through their neural net connection.

 _Fuck you._ Dean cuts off the audio.

Sam, being the little shit that he is, sends a text message.   _K-I-S-S-I-N-G!_

 _I will put Nair in your shampoo,_ Dean sends back.  

Unaware of the exchange, Castiel squints at Sam when he laughs out loud.  “Is there something inappropriate about my attire?”

Choking off his laughter and wiping a hand over his mouth to try and hide his lingering smile, Sam shakes his head.  “No, no, Cas, I’m not laughing at you.”

“He’s just being a dick,” Dean grumbles.  He smacks the back of his hand against Sam’s shoulder to emphasize his point, and then approaches Castiel, giving him a slow once over because checking his clothing gives him a good excuse to do so.  His tie is backwards, and his shirt collar unbuttoned, but otherwise he’ll definitely pass for an agent.  “You look great, buddy, but let’s fix this.”

Heat transfers from Castiel’s skin to Dean’s fingers as he does up the android’s top button and fixes his tie.  He’d like to linger, brush his knuckles under Castiel’s chin, tilting it up to a better angle for kissing, but his asshole brother is definitely watching, probably gloating, and Dean forces himself to keep his touch brief and perfunctory.  But it takes more willpower than he’s willing to admit to step back and drop his hands.

Apparently deciding to quit being an ass, Sam goes into professional mode.  “Alright Cas, I’ve got your ID all ready.”  He picks it up from from the workbench, and gives it one last critical look before holding it out.  “You’ll be Agent Stills.”

Dean takes the badge and looks it over himself even though Sam’s fake IDs are coveted by the entire Hunter community for their authenticity.  The 3D image of Castiel squinting into the camera will probably make him look like a hard-ass to anyone who doesn’t know him, but makes Dean snort with amusement because he witnessed the moment it was taken and Castiel’s confusion over what was going on.

He closes its protective cover and slips it into the inner pocket of Castiel’s blazer.  “Welcome to the team, Agent.”

Castiel beams up at him.  “Thank you, Agent.”

Sam chuckles, and pats Castiel’s shoulder on his way past.  “I’ll get changed and then we can go.”  Behind the android’s back he makes an exaggerated kissy face, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively.  He slips out of the room before Dean can chuck a tool at him.

He’d almost rather Sam go back to being a distrusting asshole than deal with the teasing.  But if letting himself be the target for a little juvenile humor gets Sam off Castiel’s back, Dean’ll make that sacrifice.

Being alone with Castiel starts his brain down the path of all the things they could do in the time it takes Sam to get ready, so to distract himself, Dean grabs the phone he’d been setting up.  

“We’re not going to split up this time if we can help it,” he says as he taps away at the screen, programming Sam and himself into the contacts, “but I’m not taking you on a hunt again without some way to contact each other.”

“That is a wise choice.”  Castiel inches closer until their shoulders brush and leans in to watch what Dean is doing.  “I don’t know how to use one of those.”

Dean snorts.  “Why am I not surprised?  Does your base programming include anything besides sex stuff?”

“No,” Castiel answers simply.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you,” Dean says with a grin.  Castiel’s soft thank you warms him inside, and he clears his throat and turns his attention back to the phone.  “Okay so this thing can do quite a lot, but first I’ll show you calls.”

Castiel presses closer as Dean goes through the different functions of the phone.  The android’s heat is distracting, especially since there’s so many other configurations their bodies could fit together and his dick is sending out signals that it would like to try them all at least three times each.  But he powers through, and hands the phone to Castiel to test out.

Phones aren’t completely obsolete since they’re cheaper than a neural net implant, and they’re easier to ditch when needed, but it’s still funny to watch Castiel lift it to his ear to place a call.  He squints with concentration, as if he can help the call go through by force of will.

It makes Dean want to kiss him.  Among other things.  

Instead he gives Castiel a few more lessons on how to work his new gadget.  There’s no need to give Sam more fodder for future harassment.

***

Castiel explores the applications on his new phone while listening to Dean and Sam discuss their case from the front seat of the car.  It has access to the overnet, and he reads a few of the articles Sam sent him.  They’re much like some of the books he’s found in the bunker’s library, with information on the types of creatures the brothers often encounter.  He stores the data in his systems to pull from later.  The device Dean gave him will be helpful, but instant access to the data will often be important if he’s going to continue accompanying them on their hunts.

“What makes you think this isn’t just some asshole thief?” Dean asks Sam as they enter the area of the city where he can no longer manually drive.  He leans back in his seat, and winks at Castiel through the rear view mirror.

Castiel’s heat management system revs up in response.  He doesn’t know why the gesture affects him in such a way, but his functions often perform oddly in response to Dean.  His error logs give him no insight, but he’s still within optimal levels so he tries not to dwell on it.

The fact that he has to try is not lost on him.  The storage sector containing the moment their lips touched keeps booting into active memory and he’s had to manually close it several times.  The appropriate response to such an error would be to archive the memory, or even delete it, but he does neither.  Another anomaly, but one he’s willing to ignore.  The memory gives him the same positive feedback that the color orange does, and since the latter is harmless he’s going to assume the former is as well.

“Well the supposed thief committed suicide almost immediately after robbing the store,” Sam points out.  “Seems kind of odd to steal a few million dollars worth of jewelry, hide it where the cops can’t find it, and then eat a bullet, don’t you think?”

Dean makes a low sound in his throat.  “Yeah, no that doesn’t sound kosher.”

“And this isn’t the only robbery I found with these details.  Look,” Sam says.  He starts gesturing in the air in front of him while Dean watches.  

It must be a hologram transmitted between them, because Castiel sees nothing but the movement of Sam’s hands.  Castiel watches carefully, while also partitioning his attention so he can prod at his security settings.  The data around where he would store a password indicates that he knows what it is, but the sector that should hold the information is missing and his error correction protocols fail to rebuild the missing data whenever he runs them.

Continuing to run the protocols while always receiving the error is a waste of processing time so he stops and focuses fully on the brothers’ conversation.  They’ve found a pattern in their data, and believe they know where the next heist might be, but to be sure they want to interview some witnesses so Dean changes the direction they’re driving.  He turns his attention to Castiel, twisting in his seat to face him since he doesn’t have to control the vehicle.

“This is more complicated than the Ruby Drop thing,” Dean says.  “We’re not sure what we’re after yet so we’re going to talk to some folks.  Just hang back and observe for now, okay?”

“I understand,” Castiel agrees.

His cooling systems boost again when Dean smiles at him before turning back around.  Despite the futility he checks his error logs, only to find nothing out of the ordinary again.  At least not since he woke up that morning.  His sleep was full of chopped and muddled memories again, this time with bits of memory about Dean interspersed with the few experiences he had with clients before Naomi tried to reset him the last time.  His logs are full of errors, but he still has no information on what caused them.

It’s concerning, and he should attempt to perform corrective maintenance.  But every time he considers asking Dean or Sam for assistance his security protocols start sending up even more errors and alarms.  It’s nearly the same reaction he had to Naomi advising him of another pending reset, or the moment when he woke to find an unknown green-eyed man standing before him and reacted in self defense.  

He can only interpret his reaction as the equivalent to human fear.  He _fears_ changes to his programming, and since it’s a function of his security systems he assumes he was programmed to react this way for a reason.  For now, he will heed the alarms and ignore the error logs.  Other than the fact that his interrupted sleep cycles make charging his battery take longer, he’s functioning properly and there’s no need to take direct action.

The city is large enough that it takes them more than an hour to reach their first destination, a police station in the higher levels.  Castiel pauses outside the building and looks up at the slivers of sky he can see among the towers.  Outside the environmental dome the sky had an orange cast to it due to the pollutants in the atmosphere, but here it looks as blue as the skies in the old movies and television shows Dean likes to watch.  

“You comin’, Agent Stills?”

“Yes, of course.”

Inside he follows the brothers to the receptionist’s desk.  The young man leads them to the captain’s office, where Sam introduces them as federal agents.  Castiel pulls out his badge when the brothers do, keeping silent while Sam makes the introductions.

Dean huffs and takes Castiel’s badge, flips it around, and hands it back to him.  The look he gives Castiel is annoyed, but the corner of his mouth tilts up before he returns his attention to the police captain.  “Don’t mind the newbie, sir,” he says fondly.  

The captain chuckles and addresses Castiel directly.  “We’ve all been there son.”

Castiel examines his badge, making sure to memorize the correct orientation before putting it away.  It’s only a minor mistake, but one he won’t repeat.

They spend some time gathering information from the Captain before he gives them access to the files they need.  Castiel pays very close attention as Sam explains what they’re looking for among the boxes of evidence, putting as much of his processing power as he can to finding a pattern.  There’s not much more to learn than what Sam had already found before they came to the station, so after a short discussion the brothers decide to visit the crime scenes to question the witnesses.

Their first stop is a jewelry store where the woman they speak with bursts into tears when she shares her story.  The next stop is an art gallery, and they interview the janitor.  Then they go to the last known location, a bank robbed the day before, where two guards give statements.  After thanking the guards for their time and sending them away Dean and Sam bring Castiel in close.

“Not much in common with these guys’ stories, is there?” Dean grumbles.

Sam huffs out a sigh.   “Different hours, different descriptions of the thief, and no connections between any of the locations.”

“Other than they all knew the person robbing them and were shocked that they’d gone bad.”  Dean runs a hand through his hair and glares around the interior of the bank.  “You know what that sounds like.”

“Shapeshifter, probably,” Sam says.  “Which means finding them is going to be a nightmare.”

Castiel accesses the files he’d stored earlier but doesn’t find an entry on shapeshifters.  “I assume, based on the name of the creature, that they are difficult to track because their appearance can change?”

“Pretty much,” Sam answers.  “They’re mutants, a holdover from government projects to make the perfect spy.  Their skin sheds and regrows on a regular basis and they can look like anyone.”

“Yeah and there’s only two ways to know you’re dealing with a shapeshifter,” Dean adds.  “You either have to get close enough to touch ‘em with something silver, because they’re all allergic as fuck to it, or you catch them looking into a camera because their eyes do this bright lens flare thing.”

“I see,” Castiel says.  “So what do we do next?”

The brothers exchange a look.  Sam looks apologetic, while Dean looks disappointed.  

“Dude, I’m not sure my stomach can handle it,” Dean whines.  “I just got over puking every five minutes a couple days ago.”

They’ve obviously exchanged information that Castiel isn’t privy to.  Once again he probes the blank space where his security password seems to be in a futile attempt to connect to the overnet.  The resulting failure is not a surprise, but no less frustrating for being expected.

“Unless we get lucky and catch them in the act, you know this is the only way,” Sam says with a sigh.

Dean groans and drops his head back on his shoulders.  His eyes close and his lips move silently in what appear to be several curse words.  After a moment he straightens and gives Castiel a smile that looks more like a grimace.  “Looks like it’s time to get dirty.”

What that means, Castiel finds out a few hours later, is coming back to the bank after it closes, breaking in, and finding where the building connects to the underground tunnels that the city is built on.  While they prepared at a nearby motel they’d rented a room in, the brothers explained that the city is built on the ruins of an older one.  There are tunnels and passages that often intersect with the lowest sectors of towers.  It’s so vast that they have to start at the last location they know the shifter hit, and try to find its trail from there.

At first the area they enter is just a little grimy, but it gets worse the deeper they go.  When Castiel brushes up against a wall and the sleeve of his trench coat comes away with a blackened smear, he frowns down at it.

Dean chuckles when he sees it.  “See, should’a left the coat behind like I said.”

Maybe he should have, but despite Dean’s warning, Castiel had been unable to leave it behind with his suit.  It had been easier to slip the coat on over his t-shirt and jeans than to puzzle out the errors he experienced when he tried to leave the motel without it.

Sam is more sympathetic.  “Don’t worry, Cas, it’ll wash.”  He inches forward, the beam of his flashlight sliding over the floor ahead of them.  

“Only if you don’t want to burn it to get rid of all the germs.”  Dean wrinkles his nose and takes a large step around a stagnant pool of water.  “I’m probably going to burn everything I’m wearing, and then bathe in Purell.”

“I am immune to the negative effects of germs,” Castiel reminds him as he follows along.  He keeps his own flashlight on the ground as well, keeping its beam in the dark spaces left by the brothers’ lights to maximise what they can see.

“Lucky bastard,” Dean murmurs, but he flashes Castiel a grin, softening the insult.

They trek further into the tunnels for a little longer, finding nothing more than dirt, insects, and the occasional rodent scurrying away from them.  Until Sam stops ahead of them and shines his light on a small mound on the tunnel floor.  “Uh, guys?  Look.”

Dean steps up next to Sam, and he presses his forearm over his nose, muffling his voice.  “Ugh, _gross._  Why’d they have to leave it there to just rot?”

Castiel takes the space to Sam’s other side and adds his flashlight beam to theirs.  The mound is a slimy mix of pinks and whites.  “What is it?”

“Skin, and pretty freshly shed,” Sam answers.  “Which means the shifter might be nearby.  Regrowing it isn’t a fun experience, and it takes them a few days.”

“You know what I don’t get?” Dean says as he stares down at the discarded skin in disgust.  “Why not take the first haul and run off somewhere to live comfortably?  Why spend their time down here?”  He glances around, nose wrinkled and lips pursed like he ate something sour.

“Hell if I know,” Sam answers as he crouches down next to the rotting skin.  “Thrill of the hunt maybe?”

“Can’t relate,” Dean grumbles.

Castiel squints at him.  “You are a hunter.”

Dean grins at him, and bounces his eyebrows.  “Yeah, but if I had a big enough wad of cash, I’d be a pampered hermit.”

“No you wouldn’t.” Sam straightens and shines his flashlight right in Dean’s face, grinning when he curses and covers his eyes.  “You’d be bored in a month.”

“Whatever.” Dean slaps out at Sam’s flashlight until it’s no longer shining in his eyes.  “So what next?  We just picked a random direction and got lucky, but there’s forking paths all over the place.”

Castiel fingers the phone in his pocket.  The tunnels are vast, and it would take a large team to canvas them all fully, but there are only three of them, and staying together is not the most efficient expenditure of their efforts.  “We should split up.”

“What?  No!” Dean exclaims.  

“He’s right, Dean,” Sam sighs.  “It’s our best chance of finding anything down here.”

Dean presses his lips together and breathes hard out through his nose, glaring first at Sam, then at Castiel.  After a few seconds he throws his hands up, making the tunnel flash as the beam of his flashlight bounces over the ceiling and walls.  “Alright fine!”  He points a finger at Castiel.  “You find it, you call for backup immediately, do you hear me?”

As that was already his intention, agreement is easy.  “Of course, Dean.”

But his words don’t soothe Dean’s irritation.  He still looks angry as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a gun.  “Do you know how to use one of these?”

Castiel examines the weapon.  He’s never held one before, but he’s seen their use in Dean’s movies.  It seems a simple enough concept.  “Point it at the target and pull the trigger.”

Dean huffs an almost laugh.  “Yeah, pretty much.”  He checks the load and the safety, and turns it handle first to Castiel.  “This is in case shit hits the fan.  And don’t shoot one of us, alright?”

Accepting the weapon carefully, Castiel nods.  “Alright.”

The brothers exchange another look, challenge in their eyes.  They must be having another silent conversation.  Whatever it’s about, Sam appears to concede, sighing and shaking his head before speaking out loud.  “Let’s each take a tunnel.  Don’t follow any turn-offs unless you have a good reason.  If we don’t find anything we’ll meet back here in an hour.”

Sam is the first to take a side tunnel.  Castiel and Dean watch for a few moments before continuing on.  When they reach the next split, Dean pulls Castiel to a halt by the sleeve.  His green eyes look nearly black in the dark tunnels, but they are very clearly full of worry.  

“I mean it, Cas,” he says.  “First sign of trouble and you call, okay?”

Castiel remembers the moment in the club when his internal timer reached the limit Dean had set to be gone.  Every second over the time had come with an increased sense of urgency.  To find Dean, to make sure he was safe.  That feeling returns now, and he briefly considers calling off the plan to split up.  He’s not worried for himself, as Dean seems to be.  All of his concern is for Dean.  But he knows Dean has been hunting for many decades, and if Sam trusts him to go off alone on this hunt, then Castiel should also trust him to do so.

But the knowledge that Dean will likely be fine doesn’t stop him from extracting his own promise.  “I will, Dean.  And you’ll do the same, right?”

Dean’s expression softens into a smile.  “Yeah I will.”

“Thank you.”

Dean stares at him for several more seconds before he gathers himself, and turns away.  “Alright, let’s go find the dirty skinbag.  Good luck, Cas!”

Castiel watches Dean’s retreating back for another fifteen seconds.  Then he sets his internal timer to thirty minutes and continues down the main tunnel they’d originally been exploring.  

Despite Dean’s worries, Castiel’s search is uneventful.  He finds more dirt, more puddles, and a feral cat that hisses and bounds away from his flashlight beam.  At thirty minutes he turns back.  He stops at the mouth of the tunnel Dean had turned down, but when he doesn’t arrive after a few minutes, Castiel decides he must have gone on to meet Sam, so he also continues on to the rendezvous spot.  

When he reaches it, he finds Sam as expected.  But only Sam.

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks as soon as he sees Castiel.

“I thought he’d be with you,” Castiel says as he immediately turns back the way he came.  “But if he’s not here, I know where to look for him.”

Sam falls in next to him, long strides allowing him to easily catch up.  “Shit, I’m not getting anything when I try to call him.  Either his signal’s jammed, or something worse has happened.”

“Are shapeshifters as dangerous as vampires?” Castiel asks as he speeds up to a jog.

“No,” Sam huffs, as he also increases his pace.  “They’re pretty much like any human.  But if one gets a jump on Dean, the surprise may be enough to take him down before he can call for help.”

That is not as reassuring as Castiel would prefer it to be.  

Just before they reach the tunnel Dean had taken, the entrance lights up and Dean himself steps out of it.  He swings toward them and grins.  “Hey guys, there you are!”

Sam lopes to a halt, and his shoulders sag with relief.  “Man, what took you so long?”

“Lost track of time, I guess.” Dean glances between them.  “Sorry to worry you.”

His eyes flash silver in the beam of Sam’s flashlight.

“Sam get back!” Castiel shouts as he lifts the gun the real Dean had given him and points it at the shapeshifter.

“What the--Cas what are you doing?” Sam stops moving, but he doesn’t back away from the imposter.  The hand not holding a flashlight moves toward the gun holster under his jacket.

He’s looking in the wrong direction, so he doesn’t see the shifter pull a knife.  Castiel squeezes the trigger, filling the tunnel with what is probably ear-splitting noise.  The shifter’s head jerks back as the bullet sheers into its forehead, and then its whole body slumps to the ground.

"NO!" In an instant, Sam’s pointing a gun at Castiel.  “You bastard, I knew there was something--”

“Sam! Cas!”

The hoarse shout stills Sam’s finger on the trigger, and he turns to the tunnel opening.  “Dean?”

“Yeah--” Dean’s voice is cut off by a cough, and a groan.  

Sam looks back and forth between Castiel and the tunnel, then down at the body at his feet.  Without lowering his gun, he squats down next to it.  He flicks Dean’s jacket open, revealing a black t-shirt.  Dean had been wearing a gray t-shirt under a purple flannel.  Sam’s arm sags so the barrel is no longer pointed in Castiel’s direction.  “Shit, this isn’t Dean.”

“No it ain’t.” Dean collapses against the corner where the tunnels meet.  He has one hand pressed against his head.  

“Dean!” Sam is instantly on his feet and at his brother’s side.  “Are you alright?”

When he lifts his hand from his head, his palm is smeared with blood.  He grimaces at the sight.  “Y’know, I think I should’ve taken a longer vacation after that vamp got me.”

Now that Sam is no longer pointing a gun at him, Castiel takes a cautious step forward.  “You said you’d call if you needed help.”

“It snuck up on me, Cas.  I was out before I knew what hit me.” Dean straightens, and brushes Sam away when he tries to steady him.  He glares down at the dead shifter.  “Fucker stole my jacket.  Better not get any of his shifter goo on it, or I’m gonna shoot him again just for funsies.”  He squints down at the body, and grabs Sam’s flashlight to shine it on its face.  “Damn, seeing a bullet hole in my head is weird as fuck.”

“Cas shot him,” Sam says quietly.  He looks up at Castiel.  “How did you know?”

“Its eyes,” Castiel answers.  “When the light hit them, they flared.”

Dean starts to laugh, but cuts off with a wince, pressing his bloody palm back to his head.  His grin doesn’t fade though.  “Of course.  You’ve got cameras for eyes.  Good job, Cas.”

Sam’s lips pull up in a wry smile.  His eyes are damp and his voice trembles when he speaks, the stress of the moment clearly catching up to him.  “Sorry I almost shot you, man.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Sam.  It was an appropriate reaction for the situation,” Castiel assures him.  He smiles, and winks the way he often sees Dean do.  “But if you had shot me, I’d definitely expect an apology.”

It’s gratifying when Sam laughs.  “That’s reasonable I guess.”

Dean looks back and forth between them, eyebrows raised.  “You two good now?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, shifting from one foot to the other and not meeting either of their eyes for a moment.  He takes a deep breath and looks up at Castiel.  “We’re good.”

There’s a gravity to his words that Castiel doesn’t understand, but it seems to please Dean.  

“Alright, then let’s get the hell out of here and go home!” Dean says cheerfully.  He steps forward and drapes an arm over Castiel’s shoulder, leaning most of his weight on him.  “And get my jacket off that damn thing, Sam.  I swear to god, if the damn shifter ruined it…”

He grumbles all the way out of the tunnels.  Sam smiles indulgently, teasing him occasionally about germs.  And Castiel searches his expansive vocabulary for the right word to describe how he feels having Dean pressed up against his side.  He finds several.  Relief… pride…

Happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only barely glanced through this in the editing stage, so apologies for any weird errors. This chapter was not my friend, and I don't want to look at it anymore.
> 
> I'd actually gotten all the way up to the *** and had NO IDEA what they were going to hunt. I've known I needed to put Castiel and Sam in a hunt together to build trust between them since I started this fic, and you'd think I'd have come up with something in advance, right? Nope. My muse fucked off to help Jupiter_James write amazing porn instead. (YAY AMAZING PORN--are you reading Protect and Serve??? You should be!) 
> 
> Anyway, thankfully a dream that all the skin peeled off my legs gave me an idea. It was a gross dream, but I'll take inspiration anywhere I can get it lol


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam needs to wind down, and Castiel shares his secrets with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a short Sabriel smut scene in this chapter. If you want to skip it stop at "Where'd you go, big guy?" and ctrl+f to "I'm fucking tired though." The rest is plotty Sam stuff until the chapter break, but if you don't want any of it just skip to the ***.
> 
> Warning for the rest: there's discussion sexual violence and rape roleplay

After packing up the things they’d left at their motel, the ride across the city is quiet.  Despite the glaze in his eyes from the head injury, Dean insists on being in the driver’s seat because his injuries are already starting to heal, and Sam isn’t in the mood to argue with him.  

He’s not really in the mood to deal with much of anything at the moment if he’s honest with himself.  It’s actually one of the easier hunts they’ve been on, but for some reason his whole body is heavy with fatigue and he’s looking forward to falling into bed and sleeping for ten hours.  The prospect of his bed being empty is not all that appealing though.

“Hey Dean,” he says just loud enough to be heard over the low music his brother is tapping his fingers along to.  “Drop me off at Gabriel’s?”

When Dean turns to him, his eyes are much clearer which makes Sam feel better about his decision.  “You sure? You look beat, dude.”

Sam’s lips twist in a small, fond smile.  “Gabriel has a bed.”

Dean’s face scrunches up with disgust.  “Not sure you’re safe sleeping in it, but whatever.”  

“Thanks.” He doesn’t bother to explain to Dean that Gabriel’s living area is completely different than the seemingly disorganized shop below it.  Dean won’t believe him without proof, and he probably won’t ever go up there to see for himself without coercion. Which makes it the best place for privacy, since Dean has never gotten over his childhood bad habit of barging into Sam’s room.

It’s not long before he’s being dropped off at the shop.  Hitching his duffle higher over his shoulder, Sam watches the car carry Dean and Castiel away for a few minutes before turning to the windowless storefront and pushing through the door.  He’s almost too tired to navigate the narrow aisles, but a lifetime of self preservation skills guides him through unscathed. The place is empty other than the man he came to see, sprawled back in a chair behind the counter where he makes his trades, feet up and a holo-magazine open a little too close to his eyes.

Sam smiles, wondering how much longer he’ll have to nag before Gabriel finally caves in and gets corrective lenses.

Less than 20/20 eyesight or not, Gabriel notices Sam as soon as he emerges from the maze of junk, and he immediately brightens.  “Samshine! I wasn’t expecting you.” And then his expression falls, his sharp eyes bouncing over Sam’s face. “Is everything alright?”

He must look as tired as he feels for Gabriel to notice it without teasing him.  “Yeah, I’m just exhausted,” he says as he approaches the counter and leans across it.  “Just finished a hunt. Shapeshifter.”

Gabriel’s nose wrinkles as he swings up from his chair.  “Those are always fun,” he says as he leans over the counter to place a soft kiss against Sam’s lips.  His fingers thread through Sam’s hair, tugging gently to guide him into a deeper kiss. When the kiss ends, he combs his fingers through Sam’s hair and looks up at him with buttery soft eyes.  “What do you need from me?”

Sam leans forward until their foreheads touch and lets his own eyes slip shut.  “A shower? And then I’ll crash for the night if that’s okay with you.”

“You bet it is, Samshine,” Gabriel murmurs.  “Mi casa es su casa. Head on upstairs and I’ll be up as soon as I’m done shutting the shop down, okay?”

Sam thanks him with another gentle kiss, and then slips around the counter to access the back of the store.  The trek up the stairs seems to take twice as long as it should, and by the time he’s dropping his bag in Gabriel’s bedroom, he’s tempted to skip the shower and go straight to sleep.  But he can smell the undercity tunnels on his skin, and he needs to scrub that away before he’ll be able to rest.

In the shower, he turns his face up to the spray and just breathes in the steam.  The water beats down on his chest, relaxing muscles and warming all the places that had gone cold when he saw Castiel lift his gun and point it at Dean.  It had taken everything in him to hide how disturbed he was by the incident, and now that he’s in a safe place with no one to witness his distress, the overwhelming terror he’d felt finally escapes from the box he’d locked it in.  

It starts with a tremble in his fingers which spreads to his limbs.  He has to brace himself against the shower wall to stay upright, and he swallows against a sob clawing its way up his throat.

It’s not until hands are cupping his face, and what had been indistinct noise becomes a voice that he realizes he’s no longer alone.

“Sam?  Hey, Sam?” Gabriel’s touch is firm, grounding Sam and bringing him out of his belated panic.  He smiles when Sam meets his gaze, his tarnished gold eyes worried and searching. “There you are.  Where’d you go, big guy?”

Sam responds by pulling Gabriel into his arms and kissing him, hard and deep.  To which Gabriel responds with a surprised meep that turns into a pleased moan.  He plasters himself against Sam’s body, heedless of the fact that he’s still fully clothed and now completely soaked.  One of his hands wraps around the back of Sam’s neck, grip tightly possessive, while the other tangles in his dripping hair.

The adrenaline drop shifts to arousal so fast that Sam’s head spins.  He grinds his hips against Gabriel, grunting at the wet fabric between them.  “Want you,” he growls against Gabriel’s mouth. “Now.”

Despite the strength of Sam’s grip, Gabriel wriggles free and drops to his knees at Sam’s feet.  He looks up through the spray of water, eyes dark with want. “You’ve got me, babe,” he says roughly as his hands massage a path from Sam’s hips to his knees and back up.  “And I’ve got you, ‘kay?”

Sam nods wordlessly, and watches hungrily as Gabriel’s hands close around his dick.  He twists his wrists as he jacks Sam too slowly, creating a hot tunnel for Sam to fuck into.  Sam’s hips flex and thrust, and when Gabriel’s mouth closes around the head of his dick his knees nearly give out.  He locks them and presses his shoulders against the cold tiles behind him, and stops moving his hips so that he doesn’t accidentally choke his boyfriend in his eagerness.

Between Gabriel’s tight grip, and his hot mouth, Sam is barrelling toward his peak embarrassingly fast.  At least it would be if he had enough brain cells available to register anything but heat and friction and suction.  But what little neurological prowess he normally has is jumbled and wrecked, and honestly he doesn’t give a fuck. He just wants to come.

And Gabriel is using every trick in the book to get him there.  When he gently runs his teeth over the head of Sam’s cock before sucking him so deep that he’s probably cutting off his own air supply, the waves of pleasure break past their flood walls.  Sam shouts wordlessly at the ceiling as the orgasm washes through him, and his fingers blindly clutch at Gabriel’s hair, pulling the strands harder than he intends.

As the euphoria fades, so does his strength.  His fingers loosen their grip, and his knees give up their battle against gravity.  He slides down the tiles, landing somewhat painfully on his ass, and looks at Gabriel--now above his own eye level--and smiles dopily.  “Thanks, I needed that.”

Gabriel snorts and scoots closer between Sam’s spread knees.  “Yeah, I see that. Feel better?”

“Mostly,” Sam sighs.  “I’m fucking tired though.”

“C’mon, let’s you dried off and into bed before you fall asleep.  You’re too big for me to carry, and sleeping on the floor will kill your back.”

Sam allows Gabriel to help him back to his feet.  The water shuts off when they’re no longer in the shower, but the steam in the room keeps it warm while Gabriel runs a towel over Sam’s skin.  He refuses to let Sam do it himself even though his hair and clothes are leaving a pretty substantial puddle on the floor.

Only once Sam’s body is dry does Gabriel relinquish the towel, tossing it up over Sam’s head.  “Go lie down. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Sam rubs as much water out of his hair as he can as he walks into the bedroom, then he tosses the towel at the pile of laundry in the corner and flops face down on the bed.  Without the steam keeping him warm goosebumps rise up over his skin and he wriggles around until he’s under the quilt. He watches through heavy eyelids as Gabriel exits the bathroom, naked, with a bundle of wet cloth in his arms.  

There’s no hesitance over his nudity as he struts across the room to deposit his clothes with the rest of the laundry, and he throws a wink in Sam’s direction when he catches him looking.  He’s still a little bit hard, and Sam feels guilty for not reciprocating the orgasm, but Gabriel doesn’t seem to even notice it as he pulls on a pair of boxers and adjusts himself.

“You hungry?” he asks once he’s sort of dressed.

The hollowness in Sam’s stomach has him nodding in response.

“Be back in a jiffy then.”

True to his word, Gabriel returns quickly.  He settles down cross legged on the bed and holds out the plate full of cookies.  “Eat up, Samshine.”

“Oh yeah that’s _healthy_ ,” Sam mumbles even as he reaches for the plate.  The bitter chocolate chips melt on his tongue when he takes a bite and he moans around it.  

“Good, eh?  Real chocolate.”  Gabriel shoves half a cookie in his own mouth and chews for a moment before talking with his mouth full.  “So wha’ happened?”

Sam finishes his cookie and reaches for another before he answers.  “I watched Castiel shoot Dean.” He stares down at the treat in his hand, and wonders where Gabriel manages to always get real chocolate, since it’s even more of a luxury than real coffee.  Dean would chew his own arm off to find out who Gabriel’s supplier is.

Which is probably why Gabriel keeps it a secret.

The announcement only makes Gabriel pause for a millisecond or two before he’s jamming the other half of his cookie in his mouth.  “I’m assumin’ ya mean the shifter, an’ not yer brother.” He swallows with a grimace. “Damn, should’a brought up some milk.”

Sam nibbles lightly at his snack, eyes unfocused while his mind replays the event in the tunnels.  Despite his doubts about the android, it had been even harder to believe that Castiel was actually pulling a gun and pointing it at Dean.  It was that slight hesitation, that faith he’d put in Dean’s assertion that Castiel is their friend, that kept him from destroying the android on the spot. And saved his life, although he didn’t see the shifter’s knife until it would have been too late.

Relief that he’d been wrong overwhelms him and he drops his half eaten cookie on the plate and covers his face with both hands.  “Jesus Christ, it scared the shit out of me. And I almost shot him too. If Dean had stayed knocked out a little longer, I could h-have--”

“Hey, whoa.” Gabriel moves the plate aside and pulls Sam against his chest.  He brushes Sam’s hair out of his face and peppers light kisses across his cheeks and nose.  “Everything turned out okay, right? Dean’s fine, or you wouldn’t be here, and Castiel…”

When he was a kid, this is the kind of comfort Sam would have sought Dean out for.  But as they’d grown older, and their father had insisted they both harden up, he’d forced himself to not need Dean’s comfort.  It was a farce, he’d always need it. But being able to ask for it is a whole other matter. Dean’s got his own crap to deal with, and it’s not fair to ask him to prop up Sam when he’s struggling.  Gabriel, though… it’s easy to relax into his arms and accept the petting and the whispered words of assurance.

“So,” Gabriel says after a while, “Are we no longer suspecting Castiel of being a dormant assassin-bot?”

“Oh no, I still think there’s something fishy,” Sam says against his throat.  He shifts enough to reach the plate of cookies and takes another bite, this time making a happy noise in his throat at the bitter chocolate surrounded by sweet biscuit.  “But I think we’re probably safer with him than I originally assumed.” He snorts a laugh. “And I really hope those two assholes are bangin’ it out right now because I’m sick as fuck of the sexual tension around the bunker.”

“Hm, I’ve got some tension to bang out if you’re up for it,” Gabriel teases.

“Hell yes,” Sam agrees as he sits up and grins at his boyfriend.  “But you’re doing the banging.”

Gabriel’s eyes light up.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweet cheeks.”

Suddenly Sam isn’t quite so tired anymore.

***

“Do you think Sam is alright?” Castiel asks as the shop recedes behind them.  He turns in his seat, having taken Sam’s place after they dropped him off, and watches out the back window.

Dean glances up at the rearview mirror, and he frowns at the sight of Sam standing in the street watching them leave.   Sam’s silence and sluggishness after they got out of the undercity tunnels had definitely pinged Dean’s radar, but he hadn’t pried.  The guy likes to poke at Dean’s feelings till he’s in danger of getting his head dunked in the nearest toilet, but if anyone asks him about his own problems, he clams right up.  

It’s taken him a long time to figure out how best to deal with Sam’s moping, which is mostly to pretend it isn’t happening while providing comfort food and gentle teasing.  And to try not to worry himself sick when Sam’s mood is bad enough that he needs to disappear for a little while. That part has gotten easier since Sam started dating-- _ugh--_ Gabriel, and he tries not to be bitter that Sam has an easier time going to his boyfriend than coming to Dean.  He’s got his own (unhealthy) coping mechanisms, so it would be hypocritical to begrudge Sam his.

“He’ll be okay,” Dean says.  “I think seeing you shoot me probably rattled him.”

Castiel straightens in his seat and squints his confusion.  “I didn’t shoot you, though.”

“Looked like it to him,” Dean explains.  They’ve reached the part of the city where he can take control of his car, so he disengages the auto drive and turns down the highway that will take them home.  “I’m surprised he didn’t kill you, to be honest. If I hadn’t woken up when I did, he probably would have.”

Even though he needs to keep his eyes on the road now that he’s actually driving, Dean turns his head enough to look at Castiel.  The close call has him a little bit rattled too. An android can take a lot of damage, but a bullet to a positronic brain is just as final as a bullet to one made of gray matter.  It’s the only thing Dean wouldn’t be able to repair, and it’s a little disconcerting to think that Castiel is capable of shutting down permanently.

Castiel could _die._

Shoving that disturbing thought back to a deep dark corner of his mind, Dean returns his attention to the road.  “Everything turned out okay though, so don’t worry about it.” It’s practically his motto. “You did good today.”

“I killed that creature,” Castiel responds softly.  

“Yeah…?” Dean prompts when Castiel doesn’t add any more.

“I would have preferred not to,” Castiel says.  

Dean glances at him, and wonders how his life has led him to having the first kill talk with an android.  “I get that. I’d have preferred to arrest him and turn it over to the authorities. Shifters are tough to prosecute though.  Can’t get any witnesses to testify against them if they can change their faces, y’know? They usually end up back on the streets, and go back to whatever they were doing that landed them in jail.”

“Were you and Sam planning on killing it when we found it?”

“Only if we had to,” Dean answers honestly.  “I mean, this one was a murderer, so I kinda expected it, but it wasn’t a set goal.  Sam and I… we believe in second chances.” If they didn’t, there’s no way they could look each other in the eye, much less face their own reflections.  

“Even for a murderer?”

His voice is soft, barely above a whisper and Dean glances sharply at him.  Maybe he should have been giving Sam’s concerns a little more consideration.  “Everyone deserves a second chance, Cas.”

“I see.”

They reach the edge of the environmental dome, and the car shakes slightly as the wind buffets it.  Castiel keeps his eyes trained outside although there’s very little to see besides dirt fields and barely there hills.  Dean is trying to decide how to broach the subject of Castiel possibly being built for more than sex, when Castiel breaks the silence.

“There are things I haven’t told you.”

And there it is.  Dean’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel, elbows locking as he physically braces himself.  “About what?”

“I do remember some things,” Castiel says to the window he’s still looking out of.  “I only have about a week between waking up in Naomi’s office and then being brought back for maintenance.”

“Naomi?”

“I’m not sure what her full role at the brothel was,” Castiel says, “But she seemed to be in charge of programming the androids.  I know there were others that were taken to her office. Often their memories were wiped when they returned.”

“Wow.  Ominous.”  There’s a good chance she was just wiping their memories of kinky stuff powerful people were asking for.  That’s what people like about sexbots, after all. No judgement, and clients can get away with some really dirty shit without the guilt of hurting an actual human being.

Not that everyone is stopped by that kind of guilt.  Dean’s got a couple friends in law enforcement, and he’s helped them bust some truly awful joints.

Sometimes regular humans are worse than any monster.

“I believe it was common after the visits of specific clients,” Castiel confirms.  “And the other androids did not seem to understand or mind what was happening to them.  Or what was asked of them in between resets.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Cas?” Dean prompts when Castiel doesn’t seem to want to continue.  “Were you asked to do something you didn’t want to do?”

From the corner of his eye he sees Castiel nod.  “Most of the time I didn’t mind my role at the brothel--what I remember of it.  I didn’t always understand the appeal of the requests--”

“Like the feeding kink?” Dean teases in an attempt to break some of the tension.

Castiel finally turns away from the window and smiles.  “Yes, that is one example.” His smile fades, but he doesn’t turn away again.  “The last client I had wanted to watch me beat one of my fellow androids.”

Dean flinches.  “I’m assuming you’re not talking the fun and consensual whips and chains kind of stuff?”

“No.  They wanted it to look like I was assaulting and raping my partner.  I was to inflict real damage, and if possible, disable her.”

“Like killing her.”  Jesus fucking Christ, people are bastards.

“...yes.”

Castiel falls silent, and Dean doesn’t push.  God, he wants to though. He wants to demand every detail, and ask where this brothel is so he can do everything in his power to tear it down, even if the victims are a bunch of machines.  And most of all, he wants to know if Castiel followed his orders. If he broke free of the pre-programmed rules that force him to follow a human’s orders before or after he was told to do something so atrocious.   

“She didn’t understand why I wouldn’t do it.  The other android. Hannah,” Castiel says eventually, answering Dean’s most burning question.  “When I refused to follow the requested scenario, she offered to take my role instead.”

Dean huffs out a relieved breath.  “So you didn’t do it.”

“No.  So I was taken straight to Naomi’s office.”  Castiel spreads his palm over his chest. “I didn’t want to be reset.  I didn’t want to wake up confused, and… scared. Again. I had to be restrained to be shut down.  I assume that is when my power supply was removed, and I was thrown away. My next memory is of waking up in your workshop.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out.  He rotates his wrists forward, squeezing the steering wheel even harder until it squeaks under the skin of his palms.  He isn’t really surprised by Castiel’s story. Not with all the living nightmares he’s witnessed. But he still hates knowing that it’s something that his friend had to experience.  “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“You’re not--” Castiel cuts off, and smiles when Dean looks over at him.  “I was going to tell you that you’re not at fault, but you know that. I appreciate your empathy, Dean.”

Some of the tension drains from Dean’s arms, and he chuckles.  “Glad to see you remember that lesson.”

“You and Sam have taught me so much.  I appreciate that too. Very much.”

Dean releases his death grip on the steering wheel and reaches across the seat to pat Castiel’s thigh.  “Happy to do it,” he says, with complete honesty.

He lets his hand linger, letting the human-like warmth under the denim soak into his chilled fingers.  He’s about to pull away when Castiel’s hand closes over his, and instinct makes him turn the palm up so that they can link their fingers together.  

They fall silent, and Dean tries to focus more on the road than the way holding hands with Castiel feels so right.  He’s always been a tactile guy, so he doesn’t shy away from PDAs with even short term lovers. But Castiel is like no one he’s ever been with before.  He’s not technically a living creature, so the warmth and texture of his skin is completely synthetic, but knowing that makes it feel no less real and significant.  

In an effort to avoid thinking about how massive his crush on Castiel is getting if he’s all dewy inside over _holding hands_ , Dean’s thoughts shift back to the hunt, and their conversation.  Something niggles at his mind about Castiel’s story. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you want to become a hunter?  It’s a pretty violent job, and so far you’ve beaten a vampire nearly to death--” he knows because Benny has been keeping him updated on the guy’s condition, and it’s still touch and go, “--and you killed that shifter.  You didn’t even hesitate. But you wouldn’t hurt a robot that doesn’t have the capacity to care what happens to her. It doesn’t quite jive, man.”

“The vampire was hurting you, so I disabled him,” Castiel says simply.  “And the shifter had pulled a knife. There was an eighty-seven percent probability that its proximity to Sam and its fear of the threat we posed to it would result in Sam receiving a severe injury, or even death.  Shooting to disable did not lower that probability to a percentage I believed was acceptable, so I shot to kill.”

Dean spares a moment to silently thank whoever programmed Castiel’s threat assessment algorithms.  

“My security protocols allow for violence in self defense,” Castiel continues, “and extending that protection to others who need protection does not conflict with those protocols.  I do not wish to kill or cause harm, and I will avoid it when there are alternative actions that will not result in worse outcomes, but I am not a pacifist.”

“Huh.  Okay then.” Dean really wishes he’d thought to record Castiel’s answer so he can send it off to Sam.  It sounds like a nerdier version of the lectures Sam would give him when he refused to follow their dad’s orders to kill without question and he was trying to get Dean to do the same.  “But that still doesn’t explain why you want to be a hunter.”

Castiel’s shoulders actually lift in a small shrug.  It’s stiff, like he’s trying it out for the first time.  “It seems a noble pursuit. To protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

“Noble isn’t exactly what I’d call it,” Dean says with a snort.  “Most of the time it’s blood and tears and injury or death around every corner.  And we’ve screwed up a lot. We don’t have your fancy schmancy software to help us make snap decisions.  We’re damn lucky we’ve survived this job as long as we have. Hunters don’t lead long lives.”

Castiel’s fingers tighten around Dean’s.  “Then why do you do it?”

Dean chuckles, because Castiel’s got him there.  “I guess because someone’s gotta protect people who can’t protect themselves.”

“You are a good man, Dean,” Castiel says.  

“Yeah, well I don’t know how accurate your assessment is, but I think you’re a good android, Cas,” Dean teases.

He gets one of Castiel’s rare toothy smiles in response.  “I don’t know about that. I broke that client’s jaw before I was removed from his room.”

The announcement surprises a laugh from Dean, the kind that comes deep within his belly.  And it’s a good thing the road is deserted, because he swerves out of his lane for a moment before regaining control.  He can’t suppress his fond grin, so he attempts to hide it by aiming it out the windshield instead of at the android it’s meant for, even as he still grips Castiel’s hand with no intention of letting go until he has to.  


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Dean’s turn to wind down, and Castiel wants to know how the washing machine works.

After pulling into the garage and shutting off the car’s electric engine, Dean sighs and leans back in his seat.  He’s fully healed from the shifter’s attack, but between the lack of sleep from researching all day and exploring the undercity tunnels all night, and the energy consumed by his nanites to repair his injuries, he’s fucking beat.  Getting out of the car and walking into the bunker’s inner sanctum feels like almost too much at the moment.

“Are you alright?”  Castiel’s hand, which had slipped from Dean’s when he’d needed both of them to navigate the bunker’s tunnel entrance, comes to rest on his shoulder.  Its warmth is probably Dean’s imagination since their skin is separated by the thickness of his jacket, but it’s still nice and he leans into it.

“I’m good,” Dean responds simply.  He doesn’t want to give Castiel a reason to get mother-hen-hovery so soon after his recovery from the vamp blood.  And there’s nothing wrong with him that a meal and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.  “Just glad to be home.”

The hunt for the shifter only kept them away from home for about two days, but it feels more like two weeks.  He may be less than a quarter through his expected lifespan, but right now he feels old as fuck for wishing he didn’t have to leave home so often for work.  That doesn’t pay him.  Jesus, his life is a shit show.

“I understand,” Castiel says with a solemn nod.  “I don’t mind trips into the city, but I much prefer the peace and quiet of your home.”

Dean turns his head against the seat’s headrest and smiles at Castiel.  “It’s your home too, Cas.”

Castiel stares back at him, wide eyed, irises rotating to adjust his pupil size.  “It is?”

“Sure.  Even if you find somewhere else to go, you’re always welcome here.”  He pauses and snorts at a stray thought about what Sam’s opinion on the matter would be.  “I mean, unless you turn out to be an assassin bot and go rogue on us or something.”

“Do you think I might be?” Castiel’s head tilts with the question.  He doesn’t look offended by the idea, but despite how realistic his reactions are most of the time, sometimes he definitely comes across as a robot.

Dean shrugs.  “I’ve got no idea, dude.”  He reaches up and puts his hand over Castiel’s where it still rests on his shoulder.  “Don’t really care either.”

He kind of loves it when Castiel smiles.  The fundamental programming to make it happen is awe inspiring, but also he’s so fucking handsome when he does it.  He’s hot all the time, but there’s something about each smile Dean has witnessed so far--the shy ones accompanied by a head tilt and lowered lashes, or the bigger toothy ones that come more rarely, or the closed lip mostly-in-the-eyes smiles--that make him want to prompt more.

If Castiel was a human, he’d probably think he’s falling in love.

He ignores the fact that it might be happening anyway.

“Alright,” he says gruffly as he sits up and pushes the car door open.  “Enough sitting in this damn car.”

Castiel exits the car and follows him to the trunk, accepting his duffel bag when Dean passes it to him.  Then they walk together through Dean’s workshop to the entrance to the bunker’s living areas.  

The place is cool and dark and quiet, and the soothing scents of home make Dean even more tired.  It’s tempting to march straight to his room, drop his bag, and faceplant on the mattress for the foreseeable future. But he’s not so tired that he’ll be able to sleep comfortably without a shower first.  Half formed thoughts of inviting Castiel to join him are interrupted when the android stumbles and catches himself against the wall just a few doors down from their rooms.  

He stops in his tracks and grabs Castiel’s arm through the grungy sleeve of his trenchcoat.  “Cas, you okay?”

“Baaaaaatteerrrryyyyy…” The way his voice drops another octave when he’s low on power sounds almost like a pained moan.

“Ah shit,” Dean sighs.  “You should’a said something sooner.”

“Sssssssoooooooorrrrryyyyy…”

Dean rolls his eyes, but smiles to soften the sentiment.  He takes Castiel’s duffel and drops it to the hall floor next to his own, then hitches Castiel’s arm up over his shoulder.  “Don’t be sorry, nerd.  Just get in the habit of keeping track of it, so if we’re headed into a sticky situation we’re not fucked over if your battery suddenly dies.”

He immediately regrets the terminology.  

Powering down won’t render Castiel permanently non-function like biological death, not like a physically destroyed biocomponent would, but he has no idea how it’ll affect Castiel’s recent memories.  If they’re not permanently stored as they’re created, or if they’re put in a temporary cache that clears or ends up corrupted if he doesn’t shut down properly, it could mess with his head.  

It’s just as uncomfortable to think of as it was to be confronted with the fact that Castiel could be permanently destroyed.  So he doesn’t, focusing on the matter at hand instead.  “C’mon, let’s get you plugged in, buddy.”

Despite the clumsiness in Castiel’s movements, it’s not too difficult getting him to his room.  Easier than it would have been just carrying him anyway.  He’s heavy against Dean’s shoulder, but he’s able to hold most of his own weight on mildly uncooperative legs.  His pout when they make it to the bed and he plops down at the edge is so human, and _childlike_ , that Dean chuckles as he leaves the room to get their bags.

When he gets back the pout is slightly grumpy as Castiel meets Dean’s gaze, like he’s offended at the laughter.  That only amuses Dean more, and he doesn’t bother to hide his grin.  “Don’t give me that look,” he says as he digs through Castiel’s bag and pulls out his cord.  He should make a few spares to keep around the bunker just in case the android gets stuck too far from his room to plug in.  Or maybe he can cobble up a better power supply.  He’ll look into it.  “It ain’t my fault you’re hangry.  Lift your shirt so I can plug you in, Mr McGrump.”

Castiel’s movements are slow, but Dean doesn’t try to rush him or take over the task.  Having recently come off a miserable couple days of having to let people do things for him he’d normally do himself, he doesn’t want to cause that same kind of frustration for Cas.  Once he can access Castiel’s chest compartment he opens it up and attaches the cord, then gives the android’s belly a friendly pat before going to plug the other end into an outlet.

The change is instant.  Castiel’s sagging posture straightens, and he actually sighs like he’s relieved.  “Thank you, Dean.”

“No pro-” he’s interrupted by a jaw-popping yawn.  Shaking his head to clear it of the sudden wave of exhaustion, he tries again.  “No problem, buddy.  You need anything else right now?”

Castiel stands and shrugs out of his trench coat.  He frowns down at the dirty smears on the sleeves for a moment before answering Dean’s question.  “Not at the moment.”

He still looks like he’s got a lemon in his mouth.  With his messy hair, the pouting scowl, his t-shirt rucked up over the open battery compartment and the cord hanging down between his legs he’s an odd combination of adorable and sexy.

And Dean must be really fucking tired if he’s developing a kink for charging robots.  “Well I’m gonna hit the showers, then get some sleep.”  He gestures at the trench clutched in Castiel’s hands.  “When I wake up I’ll show you how to do laundry, ‘kay?”

The scowl smoothes into the small mostly-in-the-eyes smile that always makes Dean feel like… like… like _something_.  “Alright.  Sleep well.”

Dean responds with a grunt, and heads for the door, more eager to leave all those weird gooey thoughts and feelings in his dust than he is for sleep.  But Castiel stops him in the doorway with a question.

“Dean?  What does ‘hangry’ mean?”

He turns back and gives Castiel a crooked grin.  “It means you’re so hungry that you’re angry.  Hungry plus Angry equals Hangry.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.  “I don’t get hungry.”

“Sure you do,” Dean shoots back.  “Humans get hungry when they’re low on glucose, which our bodies burn to create energy, and we recharge with food.  You get low on power and recharge with electricity.  It’s not all that different.”

“Oh.  I see.”

Dean laughs at the simple answer.  “I noticed you didn’t say you don’t get angry.”

Castiel holds up his trench coat, showing off the stains.  “I’m definitely _feeling_ something about this.  And the fact that I have to worry about my power levels because I was discarded without my original power supply.  And that you and Sam are so worn out by the hunt.  I don’t like any of it.”

“Or that I laughed at you before you got plugged in?” Dean prompts.

The sweet smile comes back, with a side of shy-look-through-the-lashes.  “I feel differently about that now that I’m charging.”

Dean tilts his head back on a laugh.  “Yep, you were definitely hangry.”

Castiel’s chin dips in acknowledgement.  “It appears to be the correct definition, yes.”

With a snort, Dean swings around and exits the room, calling over his shoulder.  “Yeah, so eat up and take a nap, you grumpy fucker!”  

He catches Castiel’s smile just before he passes out of sight, and he carries a ball of warmth in his chest all the way to his room to drop off his stuff.  It doesn’t fade while he gathers some clean clothes to sleep in and heads to the showers.  When he steps under the hot spray the ball of warmth moves lower, turning into a low hum of arousal as he washes himself and remembers Castiel doing this for him when he couldn’t do it himself.

It’s a sign of his exhaustion that he doesn’t decide to take care of his semi right there in the shower.  He’s already starting to droop, and he’s afraid the flood of endorphins after an orgasm will put him in a coma on the shower floor before he can make it to the bed.  So he apologizes to his bestie for the quick swipe of soap and moves on to the rest of his body.  

He’s scrubbed down, dried, dressed, and making a beeline for his bed in less than fifteen minutes.  But on his way to his room he slows when he notices Castiel’s door is still wide open.  He re-routes and pokes his head in the opening to find Castiel sitting against his headboard, knees up to brace the book the android is reading.  

“Dude, you’ll charge faster in sleep mode.”

Castiel looks up and even though they’re too far away for Dean to see it happening without activating his own sight enhancements, he absolutely knows the android’s pupils are probably rotating as he zooms in on Dean’s face.  “Yes, but Christopher has been shot and Erienne is nursing him through a fever.  I’d very much like to find out if he survives his injuries.”

With a feigned snort of derision for whatever sappy romance Cas is reading this time, Dean makes a mental note to check the book out later.  “Whatever, ya nerd.  G’night.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean lifts his hand in a vague wave and heads for his own room, and the welcome comfort of his bed.  

It’s nearly ten hours later when Dean finally wakes up, and the extended period of sleep leaves him feeling more fuzzy-headed than he was when he went to bed in the first place.  His body, more accustomed to four to six hours of sleep, protests when he sits up by giving him a low grade, thudding headache.  And his stomach is definitely trying to eat itself.  

It’s unpleasant, but nothing some food and at least three cups of coffee can’t cure.  With a groan he forces his muscles to push him onto his feet.  He shuffles out of his room, pausing when he sees that Castiel’s door is still open, but the android’s bed is empty, wrinkles smoothed from the blankets and pillows fluffed up against the headboard.  A closed book sits on the bed, front cover down.

Knowing he’s being an asshole for invading Castiel’s privacy, Dean glances up and down the empty hallway before entering the room.  He crosses to the bed and picks up the book.  The cover is just a photograph of a red rose in a spotlight on a black background.  It’s vaguely familiar, and he thinks he remembers seeing this particular volume in his mother’s hands.  

He snorts softly and sets the book back down.  Who’d have thought that romance novels would be something a robot would be interested in?  

Instead of sating his curiosity, seeing what Castiel was reading just increases the urge to learn more, so he turns to the books stacked on the side table.  He finds _Shane_ which Castiel had read to him while he was sick, another romance with an old fashioned bodice ripper cover, and an outdated textbook on quantum physics.  At the bottom of the pile is a thin volume with a picture of a bunch of stuffed animals piled together on a child’s bed.  

He runs his fingers over the title-- _The Velveteen Rabbit._ It brings him another childhood memory of his mother and sitting in her lap while she read it to him.  He opens it up and flips slowly through, smiling at the illustrations.  

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Dean does _not_ squeak with surprise at Castiel’s sudden presence, although he can’t deny how obviously he jumps.  He fumbles not to drop the book, and he quickly adds it back to the stack on the bedside table.  “Uh… hey, Cas,” he says as he turns to face the music for invading Castiel’s privacy.  “Sorry, I uh… you weren’t here and I saw your books and-and got curious.”

Castiel squints first at him, then the books, then back.  “I don’t understand the purpose of the apology.  Is this somehow related to showing empathy again?”

“No, it’s uh… I shouldn’t have come in your room without being asked,” Dean admits.  “I’m sorry for invading your privacy, and uh… stuff.”

The squint smoothes away and Castiel nods his understanding.  “Oh.  I didn’t understand that I am allowed to have privacy here, so there’s no need for apology.”

Dean’s shoulders relax, but then tense right back up for a different reason.  “Dude, of course you’re allowed to have privacy.  That’s the whole point of having your own room in the first place.”

The squint comes back.  “Are you upset with me?”

With a puff of breath, Dean forces his hackles down and shakes his head.  “Naw, I’m just irritated by how poorly you were treated before you came here.”

Castiel shrugs, and something about it reminds Dean of the way Sam moves.  “If I were a normal android, I wouldn’t have minded my circumstances.”

For some reason that statement threatens to poke the embers of Dean’s annoyance back into a full flame, so he decides to just gloss over it and change the subject, instead going back to Castiel’s original greeting.  “Did you need me for something?”

Castiel perks up.  “Yes.  I tried to start a load of laundry, but I believe I did something incorrectly.  The machine started shaking and making a banging sound.  I turned it off, and came to find you.  You weren’t in your room.”

Well that definitely explains Castiel’s normal outfit of a loose t-shirt and lounge pants.  He must have loaded his favorite orange items into the washer too.  Dean rolls his eyes.  “You probably balanced it wrong.  I’ll help you with it, but I need coffee and breakfast first.”

He leads the way to the kitchen--not intentionally, but Castiel follows on his own--and makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Castiel starts the pot of coffee.  Until the caffeine starts to kick in, he’s not really up for conversation, but Castiel seems content to sit quietly with him while he eats.  When he’s finished his second mug, and only has a few bites left of his sandwich, he gets up from the table and finishes it on his way to the laundry room.

Sure enough, Castiel’s trench coat has unbalanced the load, so Dean shows him how to feel the bunched up wet cloth to find the bulkiest places and how to even things out so the washer’s drum will spin properly.  At least he seems to have done everything else right and didn’t add too much soap or not enough water.  

“Not bad for your first try,” he says as he leans against the washer.  The hiss of running water echoes around the large open space along with his voice.  “The first time Sam tried to do laundry without help when he was a kid, he filled the washer but left the water level on low.  Ended up burning out the motor.”

“I’m glad I didn’t damage anything,” Castiel says solemnly.  He shifts closer, making Dean realize that Cas is already firmly ensconced in his personal space.  “I thought I might have when it starting making those loud noises.”

Dean’s first reaction to Castiel’s proximity is to put a few more inches between them.  But then he remembers that Castiel is interested in getting a lot closer, and all the sexual frustration he’s been ignoring for days comes rushing back.  He doesn’t have to ignore it now though.  They’re alone, and there’s nothing pressing that needs either of their attention now that the washer is humming along normally.

His eyes drop to Castiel’s lips.  He wants to kiss him so bad he can almost taste it.  But he’s not going to pounce on him.  Not without permission.  He’s about to ask but Castiel seems to already be ahead of him in this race.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs.  “Do you want to kiss me?”

After clearing his throat, Dean manages an answer.  “Yeah I do.”

***

Castiel spends another thirty-eight milliseconds cataloguing the different shades of green in Dean’s irises, but is interrupted when his pupils expand.  A sure sign of arousal, which Castiel finds fascinating.  It’s something that he’d recognized with clients in the small database of memories he still retains from his days at in the brothel, but it feels significant with Dean.  

He wants to see Dean’s eyes darken, and his skin flush.  He wants to see every miniscule reaction his body has to Castiel’s presence.  And his touch.  

Lifting his hands, he slides his palms from Dean’s wrists up to his elbows.  The short hairs growing from Dean’s skin catch against the creases in Castiel’s palm and fingers, and he files that away along with all the other things he observes about the human.  As well as the way the hair stands up and tiny bumps develop along the path of Castiel’s touch.

“I would also like to kiss you,” he says.  

Dean’s breath hitches and he sways forward.  “Well what are we waiting for?”

Permission.  And he believes that’s what Dean is implying, so he initiates the kiss they both want.  

Dean gasps again when their mouths touch, and Castiel exhales against his lips, wanting the air molecules that were recently in his own lungs to fill Dean’s.  A shudder runs through Dean’s body and suddenly his hands are fisted in Castiel’s t-shirt, one at his waist and another low at his back.  Castiel expects to be jerked into a hard embrace, but Dean only seems to need something to hold on to.

He wants Dean to hold on to him.  “Dean,” he says in the briefest separation of their mouths, “touch me.”

That earns him a deep moan, and Dean’s fists loosen their hold on Castiel’s t-shirt and instead slide under it.  Pressure sensors under Castiel’s skin track their path as one broad palm rubs upward over his spine.  The other hand splays wide just between his hips, fingers nudging at the band of Castiel’s lounge pants.  

Castiel slides his hands further up Dean’s arms, over the bulge of his biceps, to his shoulders.  He cradles Dean’s neck, then his jaw.  His stubble makes an interesting sound as Castiel rubs the pad of his thumb against it.  Curious, he lets one hand drift from Dean’s jaw to the short hair above his ears.  The texture is drastically different, as is the longer hair at the top of his head.  

Dean makes another sound deep in his chest as Castiel pets through his hair, which he takes as encouragement.  A memory of a client who liked having their hair pulled tries to boot, and Castiel force closes it.  He doesn’t want those moments corrupting the new memories he’s creating with Dean.  

And besides, Dean seems to like the gentle touch.  Each time Castiel combs his fingers from the front of Dean’s scalp to the base of his skull, Dean arches his neck and he kisses Castiel a little more deeply, tongue flicking out of his mouth to trace the edges of Castiel’s lips.  

When Castiel responds by flicking back with his own tongue it seems to loosen something in Dean.  Like he was holding back before and now he’s not.  Despite Castiel’s knowledge of kissing, he’s never been kissed like this.  He does his best to keep up, pushing forward when Dean retreats, giving way when Dean presses back.  

The rhythm of give and take is interrupted when the washing machine makes a loud thunking noise, and then begins to vibrate as its barrel starts to spin.  Castiel could easily have dismissed the noise, but Dean lifts his head with a gasp, breaking the kiss.  He blinks down at Castiel, unfocused, flushed, his lips a brighter shade of pink and damp from both their tongues.

“Not that I’m not loving the hell out of this, Cas,” he says through panting breathes.  “But do you think we could take this somewhere more comfortable?”

“Where would you like to go?” Castiel’s cooling systems have spun up, and he’s breathing as hard as Dean.

“Is my room okay?”

Castiel would be comfortable anywhere, so he accepts Dean’s suggestion easily.  “Yes.”

Dean takes him by the hand and they walk side by side through the bunker back to the corridor leading to their bedrooms.  He pauses just outside and gives Castiel an uncertain, questioning glance.  

“If you’re concerned I’m going to change my mind, there’s no need,” Castiel informs him.

His guess as to what’s bothering Dean seems to be correct.  He gets a sheepish smile and a soft “okay.”  

Dean leads them into his room and stops next to the bed.  He looks back at Castiel and takes a deep breath.  “Look if all you want to do is kissing right now I’m cool with that.”

“Is that what you want?” Castiel wants Dean to want more than kissing.  But he is also ‘cool’ with that being all they do right now.  At least he thinks so.  He’s 87% certain he’s understanding the idiom correctly.

Dean huffs out a laugh and runs the fingers of his free hand through the hair on top of his head, tugging at the strands more roughtly than Castiel was doing in the laundry room.  “Hell no.  I’m horny as fuck, you’re hot as fuck, and _jesus christ_ your mouth is a fucking gift, man.”

“Would you like to do something else with my mouth?”  Castiel tightens his grip around Dean’s fingers, and closes the small gap separating them.  He lifts Dean’s hand to his mouth and laps his tongue over their interlaced knuckles.  “It serves multiple functions.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”  Dean’s voice has deepened with his arousal, and Castiel records the modulations in his databanks.

“Tell me what you want, Dean,” Castiel demands.  It’s something he doesn’t remember ever doing before.  He’d always been on the receiving end of them.  

“I, uh…” Dean’s eyes are focused on Castiel’s mouth, and he seems mesmerized.  “Honestly dude, I just want to fool around until we get each other off.”

That’s a far more simple fantasy to fulfill than most of what he’s programmed for.  And Castiel is ready to oblige.  “Then we should start by getting undressed.”

Dean nods, and slowly lets go of Castiel’s hand.  When he pulls off his t-shirt, Castiel does the same.  And when he reaches for his sleep pants, Castiel also removes his own.  From there, he has no more clothes to remove since he’d seen no reason to wear anything under his pants.  

The flush across Dean’s cheeks deepens, but he says nothing and quickly removes his underwear.  Electric blue briefs with a white elastic band.  Castiel admires the color for a few milliseconds before his attention returns to Dean’s body.

He’s seen Dean completely bare before, but it’s different now.  He stands straight, unbowed by pain and fatigue, and his skin no longer holds an unhealthy yellow tinge.  Instead it glows pale as cream in some places, and a golden tan in others where his clothing covers him less often.  And a lovely shade of pink against the dark hair between his legs where his cock stands out from his body, flush with blood.  

It twitches under his gaze, and Dean huffs out a laugh.  “You just going to stare at it, or are you going to come over and make friends with it?”

The question brings Castiel’s attention up to Dean’s face.  His eyes are still darkened with arousal, but he’s chewing at his bottom lip.  Castiel has seen him do that before, when he’s deep in thought.  He wonders what Dean is thinking about so intently right now.  He also wonders what Dean’s question even means.  “Is it possible to be friends with you and also with separate parts of your anatomy?”

Dean laughs again, louder.  “Oh my god, you weirdo.  Just get over here and fucking kiss me.”

As demands go, it’s the only one Castiel remembers ever being eager to obey.  So he does.

When he’d kissed Dean in the laundry room, it had been softer, more tentative.  Now, without layers of clothing between them, it seems to have also removed some barrier to Dean’s passion.  He pulls Castiel close, and his hands wander.  From the back of Castiel’s neck to the base of his spine.  Both hands end up on Castiel’s ass, squeezing, but not roughly.  He kisses Castiel deeper, pulling back and coming in at a different angle.

Castiel absorbs every detail, adding megabyte after megabyte to a database he’s partitioned off specifically for Dean.  He records the soft gasps Dean makes when Castiel runs his fingernails across his shoulders.  He saves the location of every patch of skin that reacts to his touch with goosebumps.  He flags the data of how Dean’s muscles go loose when Castiel’s fingertips dip briefly in the cleft of his ass.

And when Dean starts tugging him towards the bed, he follows.  He experiences a brief sense of wrongness, not quite an error but a minor glitch, when their mouths part.  But it’s gone almost immediately when his attention is captured by the way Dean’s muscles flex as he uses his elbows to pull himself further onto the bed.  Castiel crawls across the mattress, keeping their bodies even, and when Dean relaxes onto his back, Castiel lowers his own body over him.

Dean’s legs spread wide, and when he groans and thrusts up, Castiel realizes that he’s hard as well.  His body is coded to show arousal, but this is the first time he remembers it running the program without his conscious command.  Curiously, he flexes his thighs causing his erection to slide alongside Dean’s and it prompts a deep moan.  So he does it again.  

He watches Dean’s face.  He catalogues each twitch of an eyelid and every swipe of Dean’s tongue across his lips.  There’s more and more data to collect, and he eagerly does so, filling blank partitions with Dean.  

“How does that feel?” he asks.

Dean’s eyes had slipped shut, and they flutter open again.  His pupils have nearly swallowed all the green in his eyes.  “Good,” he grunts.  “God, you’re kinda…” he rolls his hips up, seeking more friction.  “You’re kinda big,” he finishes.

“You’re larger than I am,” Castiel points out.

“Not my dick,” Dean says on a laugh.  He pushes at Castiel’s shoulder until he pushes up on his hands so their chests are no longer pressed together.  Then he tilts his chin down and looks between their bodies.  “I’m no slouch, Cas, but you’ve got me beat.”

Castiel follows his gaze to where their dicks are rubbing together.  Dean is uncircumcised and with each stroke the foreskin slips away from the head, revealing the glisten of precome.  Castiel’s creators did endow him with a large circumcised penis, but Dean is closer to him in size than any of the clients he’d been with.  He finds himself unable to look away, fascinated by the differences and the similarities and the way their bodies move together.

Together they watch, and together they move.  Dean’s hands clutch at Castiel’s arms, his shoulders, his hips, always moving.  Castiel keeps his hands and knees planted firmly against the mattress to give himself leverage.  They shift and rock together like they’re fucking, but without either penetrating the other.  

His databanks supply a definition.

_Frottage - frot, tribadism, dry humping, or any other no-penetration body grinding done with or without clothes in public or in private._

Considering Dean’s earlier concerns about Castiel’s privacy, it is unlikely that he would be willing to do something like this in public.  

When Dean’s stomach muscles begin to clench and his thighs tighten around Castiel’s hips, Castiel dismisses the dictionary function and refocuses.  He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he stops watching their dicks slide together and instead watches Dean’s face.  His eyes are shut again, and his lips pull back from his teeth, making his breath hiss between them.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, intensely curious.  “What are you feeling?”

“I’m… gonna-” he cuts off with a grunt. His head torques backwards lifting his shoulders off the bed.  His fingers dig into Castiel’s hips, pulling, pulling, guiding him to thrust faster.  His breaths become shallow, sucking in puffs of air without exhaling.

And then his body freezes.  His mouth opens without sound.  Castiel feels the muscles at his groin contract and he knows Dean is orgasming.  He wants to look down between their bodies, to see Dean ejaculate between their bellies, but the way ecstacy twists Dean’s face is too fascinating to turn away from.  

Castiel is aware that Dean is aesthetically pleasing.  His face contains a combination of masculine strength tempered by more delicate features like soft pink lips and long lashes.  And other than a slight crook in his nose and a faint scar on his chin, his face is highly symmetrical.  Everything that combines together to create what humans would consider an attractive face.  

But as the milliseconds tick by, Castiel realizes that _he_ sees Dean in a way he’s never seen anyone before, no matter how perfect their features.

Dean is beautiful.

***

Every muscle in Dean’s body feels like jello--red flavored, not that green shit Sam insists is better--by the time he collapses back on the bed with a sigh.  Fuck.  Holy fuck.  Is he melting into the bed?  He kinda feels like he might be melting into the bed.

“How do you feel?”

Dean peels one eye open through a monumental force of will, and peeks up at Castiel.  Other than his hair being a little messier than usual, the android doesn’t look like he’s broken a sweat.  Not that robots sweat.  At least he’s breathing hard, so his motor definitely got revved up.  

“Great,” Dean drawls.  “Fuckin’ amazing.”

Castiel smiles, and from this close, Dean can see the way the skin crinkles around his eyes.  If he aged, those little crinkles would eventually turn into crows feet.  Which would probably do nothing to lessen his hot factor.

“I’m glad.” He leans down and kisses Dean lightly.  No hanky panky, just a peck.  Which is a little disappointing, but also a little nice.  “Thank you, Dean.”

And then he gets up, and rolls off the bed.  The absence of his body heat leaves Dean uncomfortably chilled, and he frowns as he watches Castiel pick up his clothes and slip them on before heading towards the door.  He stops halfway through it and looks back.  “I’m going to go move the laundry from the washer to the dryer, and then I think I’ll finish my book.  I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs quietly.  “See ya later.”

Castiel flashes a toothy smile then leaves, closing the door behind him.

Dean blinks at the ancient wood panel.  “What.  The fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally... it only took them 70k to bump uglies. Stubborn bastards.
> 
> The book Castiel is reading is my favorite, A Rose In Winter by Kathleen E Woodiwiss :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie summons Sam to Moondor to share the info she dug up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Sam's POV. There's a tiny bit of Sabriel content, but nothing explicit.

Under the pile of blankets Gabriel insists on pulling over them when they sleep, it’s too warm and the heat wakes Sam from a dreamless sleep.  Despite the clammy sweat coating his body he doesn’t bother to kick them away. It’ll wake Gabriel, and Sam would rather stay wrapped around the smaller man for a few minutes longer, soaking up the scent of his skin and the comfort of his presence.  

He risks running his hand over Gabriel’s belly, teasing the trail of soft hair that would lead him lower but not following it.  He just wants to touch, to feel warmth and life. Gabriel sighs softly, almost a pleased purr, but doesn’t otherwise react, and Sam smiles in the darkness.

The peaceful moment drags on, and Sam lets his thoughts drift.  Most of the time he has difficulty just lounging around, since there’s usually something requiring his attention at any given time, whether it’s a Hunter referred to him for advice, or the book he’s been working on about culture in the City’s underworld, or even the greenhouse needing to be harvested.  There’s always something to study, someone to save, or just the random chores around the bunker that aren’t taken care of by Dean’s robots.

The constant busyness doesn’t usually bother him.  He usually craves it. But when he needs to relax, he can always find sanctuary with Gabriel.  And after the close call with the shapeshifter, he desperately needed it.

But life intrudes, as it always does.  A coded message from Charlie reminding him that it’s the last day of the Moondor tournament pulls him to full wakefulness.  He’d enjoyed a few peaceful moments of not worrying about Dean’s android, but he’s not going to ignore Charlie’s information just for some more cuddling.

He drags his hand up to Gabriel’s chest, pulling him even closer, and presses a kiss among the messy gold hair behind his ear.  “Hey, I’m going to Moondor. You want to come, or are you going to sleep some more?”

Gabriel grunts and digs his face deeper into his pillow.  “Have fun stormin’ the castle.”

Sam smile against Gabriel’s hair, unsurprised by the answer.  “Join me later if you can?”

He gets another grunt that sounds more positive than the last one.  After another lingering kiss, this time against Gabriel’s smooth shoulder, Sam finally rolls away.  The room is cold in contrast to the steamy heat under the blankets, and he shivers his way to the dresser where Gabriel keeps clean clothes for him.  He pulls on a t-shirt and some sleep pants that don’t get a lot of use, since sleeping with Gabriel requires nudity for more than one reason, but doesn’t bother with socks or shoes.  It’s not like anyone will know he’s barefoot where he’s going.

A thought connects him to the Moondor servers, and Gabriel’s bedroom fades from his perception, leaving him in Loki’s tent.  Since Gabriel isn’t connected to the game, the bed appears empty despite the bunched up blankets and furs near the center. Sam smiles fondly at the lump before checking his appearance in a tall mirror in the corner and donning his mask.  Once he’s confirmed his garb looks princely enough, he exits the tent and makes his way to the tournament grounds. The sun is just barely peeking above the distant mountains, and the air is cool enough to match Gabriel’s bedroom. But a glance at the clear sky--a vivid blue that he’s never seen outside of historic holovids and games, or while under the city’s protective eco-dome--tells him the weather will probably be warm later.

Despite the early hour, the games are already under way.  Sam can hear the cheers of the crowd long before he reaches the fields where spectators gather to watch the competitors.  He slips around the edges of the crowd where he can, and doesn’t make eye contact with anyone who might wish to engage him in conversation.  When he reaches the Queen’s pavilion the guards move aside, obviously expecting him.

“Your Highness,” the queen calls over the din of weapons clashing against shields when she catches sight of him.  “I’m so glad you made it.”

He bows deeply.  “I’m grateful for the invitation, Your Majesty.”

She waves a red-gloved hand in dismissal.  “Please, enough formality. Join me.”

Following the command and her gesture to the seat at her side normally reserved for Gilda, he sits and leans close.  “You are without your sorcerous today, Majesty?”

“Sadly, she has duties that call her away,” the queen responds.  Then carefully pitched so only he can hear, “Oz needs its good witches for a surprise event.”

Sam grins behind his mask at Charlie’s annoyed tone.  “Did the players glitch-start something Dorothy had planned for later again?”

She doesn’t roll her eyes since they’re in the public eye and they have to keep up appearances, but the gesture is strongly implied in her voice.  “Yes. I told her that last patch wasn’t going to stop them.”

The crowd roars with approval as competitors enter the field for the Grand Melee, drowning out Sam’s chuckle.  He waits for it to quiet down and for Charlie to confirm the battle’s start with a wave of acknowledgement before he speaks again.  “Your message indicated you have news. Is it safe to discuss publicly?”

The eyes of Charlie’s phoenix mask roll toward him.  “Do I need to give you a reminder of what kind of power the Queen actually wields?”

He laughs again at the warning and shakes his head.  “No thank you. The last ‘reminder’ you sent me took a week to clear from my systems.”

“A week?  C’mon Sam, you’re better than that,” Charlie teases, her out of character speech indicating she’s already given them privacy to speak normally.  “Should I start sending you more viruses to crack for practice?”

“I’ll tell Dorothy you’re picking on me.”

The beak of her mask doesn’t allow a lot of humanoid expression, but there’s just enough that he imagines her wrinkling her nose at him.  “Rude.”

“So was that last virus,” he points out.  

Her tinkling laughter escapes the open beak of her mask, and despite the privacy “spell” around them, other players turn to give them curious looks.  A few are jealous and calculating when they land on Sam and he sighs because he’s probably going to end up embroiled in some kind of political mess soon.  It’s a good thing he’s dating Loki both in game and in real life, because Gabriel will make sure that no one topples Sam’s kingdom while he’s too busy to play.

“Alright I’ll be nice,” Charlie accedes on an amused sigh.  “And I do have news for you.” She pulls a slip of paper from the folds of her robe and passes it to him.  “I still haven’t tracked down the company owners, and color me impressed by the way. These people have some seriously complex security.  I mean, they make Roman’s security measures look amateur.”

Information starts scrolling across the paper’s surface as soon as it’s in Sam’s hands.  There are lists of manufacturing locations and the shell companies they’re hidden under. Most of them are parts factories, but at the bottom of the list is the plant that actually builds the androids.  It isn’t exactly hidden; Sam had already found it in his own research, located not too far from Chicago.

But the information listed under that is more than he’d found on his own, and he sits up straight in his seat when he reads it.  “This is the lead engineer?”

“Yup,” Charlie says with a proud pop of her lips.  “Looks pretty damn familiar, huh?”

Sam can only respond with a slow nod as he stares down at a holo-pic that looks just like Castiel with more age lines around his eyes and a dusting of silver at his temples.  If Cas aged, Sam would estimate he’d be well into middle age, maybe a few decades past a hundred years. “James C. Novak,” he reads out loud as he runs a fingertip through the 3D image.

It doesn’t say anywhere that this Novak guy works directly with the VI programming, but the company records Charlie dug up don’t include a VI division, so he doesn’t know who else it could be.  The only way to find out for sure is to talk to someone who works at the manufacturing plant, preferably Novak if Sam can get to him, and that’s going to be tough. He doubts he could just call the guy, or waltz into his office and request an interview.  Even if he could do the latter, the distance is too far to go unprotected from the sun, and taking his bike is out of the question. And so is taking one of Dean’s cars since that’s bound to bring up questions he’s not ready to answer. The speed trains will get him there safely and quickly, but he’ll still have to come up with some kind of excuse for leaving the state.  

His thoughts are interrupted by the roar of the crowds, more frantic than anything he’s heard so far this morning.  When he lifts his head, his eyes are immediately drawn to the cause.

The field is mostly clear now, those who failed to hold their own in the mock battle having left to give space to those still fighting.  He’d barely noticed the volume of the fight going down because the cheering had grown louder, and now that he’s paying attention he can see why.

Three warriors remain, two of which have joined forces against the third.  It’s the third that the crowd is going wild for. Sunlight glints off the man’s armor where it isn’t thickly covered with mud, but even without being able to see the sigil etched into the chest plate, Sam would recognize it anywhere.  He knows that it’s a combination of silvered steel and spelled white leather, far less physical protection than the full plate armor worn by the warrior’s current foes. He’s seen the roses and thorns etched into the silver, and embossed into the leather up close.  And he knows that it was designed specifically to match a gun in the real world. One chosen for its beauty despite their father’s disapproving frown at the flashy weapon.

Next to Sam, Charlie straightens in her seat.  “I didn’t know Dean was going to be here today.”

“Me either,” Sam murmurs.  

The fight continues, and Sam wonders why Dean is letting it drag on when he clearly outmatches both of the knights facing him.  Especially when his counter attacks are so vicious. But instead of striking the weapons from his opponents’ hands, he continues to shift his weapon at the last moment, knocking them away but not out of the fight.

“Showoff,” Charlie mumbles.

Normally Sam would agree.  Dean’s always loved the pageantry involved in tournament battles, which is why the spectators know and love him so much.  But he can see that Dean’s fighting is different today. The typical smooth flow of Dean’s movements are abrupt and stiff, radiating agitation.  It would be impossible to explain how Sam knows, but to him it’s obvious that Dean’s pissy about something, and he’s taking it out on his last two contenders on the field.

One of the warriors gets knocked on her ass, shield arm flying wide and leaving her open.  She holds her sword up in a desperate attempt to block Dean’s blow, but it’s batted aside with ease.  Even from across the field Sam can see her cringe away from Dean’s incoming attack, and he holds his breath, wondering if Dean will pull back at the last moment.  Next to him Charlie huffs in relief when Dean’s vicious swing turns into a tap against the downed warrior’s weak spot, effectively “killing” her. But then all that dangerous energy is turned toward his last opponent, who can only defend against the fury of Dean’s attack, with no chance to go on the offensive.  

A hush falls over the crowd, making the clash of weapons seem even louder.  A foot set wrong is the unknown warrior’s downfall, causing them to stumble and giving Dean the opening he needs for the winning blow.  Dean takes the opportunity with a shout that sounds more frustrated than triumphant, and then he’s standing alone in the field.

There’s a few heartbeats of silence and then the crowd goes wild, jumping to their feet in the stands and filling the air with their approval.  Dean towers over his last opponent, sword and shield held low, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath. After a few moments he stabs his sword into the mud at his feet and holds a hand out to help the man he’d just pummeled to his feet.  

Once again the crowd roars, stomping on their wooden benches until the stands visibly rattle, and Sam has to resist the urge to cover his ears.  Instead he adjusts his game volume and watches curiously as Dean gives the crowd a jaunty wave before patting his final opponent on the shoulder and turning to make sure the other knight he felled is okay too.  He gives her a friendly cuff to the arm as well before rounding to approach the Queen’s pavilion. His movements still look stiff, the only indication there’s something wrong since he’s still wearing his helmet, the eyeless faceplate down and covering any trace of his expression.

When Dean is close enough to speak, Charlie stands and addresses him formally.  “Well fought, Sir Cain. Congratulations are most definitely in order.”

Dean reaches up to remove his helmet, revealing more of his face than most players display.  He doesn’t wear any kind of mask, instead a strip of white silk is wrapped over his eyes and tied behind his head.  Wisps of black smoke seep through it from the shadowy depressions where his eyes should be.

It’s creepy as hell, but Dean’s always been proud of his Blind Knight avatar.  He’d done a lot of work building up his backstory, a man turned demon who fights his darker nature to serve his queen and country.  It’s very _Dean_ , and a lot more clever than the background Sam created for himself.  

The grim set of Dean’s exposed mouth and jaw sets off more alarms in Sam’s head and he plans on finding out exactly what’s wrong as soon as Charlie is finished with her performance for the audience of gamers.  He slips the information she’d given him into his pocket, and when she sits back down next to him, Dean dismissed to collect his prize, Sam leans in to thank Charlie for her time.

“You gonna go find out who pissed in his Cheerios?” Charlie asks with a smirk.

He chuckles.  “Yeah, because I’m afraid if he doesn’t talk it out he’ll spend the rest of the day beating other players into pixels.”

She clacks her beak, and the feathers haloed around her head twitch when she nods.  “Good luck with that! Tell him I’m mad it took so long to get here, will ya?”

“You bet.”  Sam bows formally over her gloved hand, and takes his leave.

It’s not hard to find Dean, since he leaves eddies of whispering players in his wake.  Sam just has to follow the chatter to a white tent with silver flags bearing the sigil of a white rose on an oval field of thorny vines.  He has no idea how Dean can stand all the white, since he’s a neat freak and Charlie programmed some very realistic dirt effects into Moondor.  

Without bothering to announce himself he enters the tent, finding Dean murmuring instructions to a squire about the proper way to clean the leather of his armor.  “Quite the show you put on out there,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

Black smoke swirls around Dean’s head when he lifts it to look at Sam.  A half smile curls his lips, and he shrugs. “People liked it.”

“I’m no so sure that applies to the fighters out on the field with you.”

Dean chuckles at that, then turns his attention to the squire.  “Give us some privacy, Lucas.”

The boy nods and scurries out of the tent without a word.  Sam watches him go, and when they’re alone he reaches up to wave his mask away.  He lifts an eyebrow at his brother, who’s turned his attention to the buckles of his armor.  “Kinda young for Moondor, isn’t he?”

“Yeah I’m pretty sure he’s logged in under his dad’s profile.  There’s no way he’s old enough to accept the terms and conditions on his own.  I keep an eye on him, and have a few buddies doing the same when I’m not logged on.”  Dean frees his hands, and then throws Sam a questioning look. “What are you doing logged on?  Already tired of Gabriel’s hot bod?”

The lack of sarcasm in Dean’s tone is another indicator that something’s wrong.  “He’s sleeping and I’m not, so I figured I’d participate in the last day of the tournament.  What are _you_ doing logged on?  Where’s Cas?”

Dean’s lips thin and his movements become jerkier.  “Probably reading a book.”

Well that’s an interesting reaction.  Sam gingerly pokes the bear again. “You don’t know?”

“It’s what he said he was going to do last time I talked to him,” Dean snaps.  He practically jerks his chest plate free, letting it fall to the canvas under his feet instead of showing it the care he normally does.

“Huh, okay,” Sam says, unsure how to address his brother’s prickly attitude without knowing its cause.

Dean levels a glare at him, or at least that’s what it looks like when the shadows under his blindfold narrow in Sam’s direction.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam shrugs.  “Just… ‘okay’.”

With a grunt, Dean turns back to his armor.  

“Did something happen with Cas?” Sam ventures.

Dean’s shoulders go so tight they practically touch his ears, but he doesn’t answer.

Which means something definitely happened.

“C’mon man, talk to me,” Sam entreats, going with Unthreatening and Reasonable so he doesn’t spook Dean any further.  One wrong step and Dean’ll clam up for weeks. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I’m not an idiot, and I know you better than anyone,” he adds when Dean looks like he’s going to object.

Dean huffs out an expletive and plops down on a nearby stool.  His head drops forward and he digs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the longer strands at the top.  He’s silent for a long moment, which Sam waits out patiently--he knows it won’t be long, and it isn’t.

“Cas and I had sex.”

“Oh.”  Not surprising, really.  At least that it happened.  The fact that Dean seems even more tense now is a shocker though.  Usually Dean is relaxed and dopey for a day or two after a good lay.  Which means… “Was it, uh, not… good?”

Dean snorts.  “Dude’s a sex bot, Sammy.  He knows his stuff.” His head lifts and his gaze drifts to the white silk wall across from him.  His smile turns practically dreamy. “We didn’t even do anything really kinky, but Cas is really intense, man.  He kinda just-” he makes a soft explosion sound and his hands flare out next to his temples before he drops them to his thighs.  

“What’s the problem then?”  He hates that he has to prod the relevant facts out of Dean, while he gets the TMI shit so easily.  He makes a mental note to drop details of his own sex life in conversation as revenge some time in the near future, and focuses on keeping his Patient Face in place.

Dean eyes Sam warily.  “It was great, man. There was no problem with the sex.”

“So is he shit at pillow talk or something?”  It’s difficult to keep a straight face when he imagines what pillow talk from Castiel would be like.  Probably something literal about the comfort of the pillows they're using _._   “Or is he like, _really_ bad at cuddling?”

Dean’s blush is so dark, Sam can see it under the edges of his blindfold.  

Bingo.

“Seriously? It’s the cuddling that sucks?”

Surging to his feet, Dean gathers up his discarded chest plate, and keeps his back to Sam as he fusses over the dried mud on its surface.  “...there was no cuddling.”

It’s mumbled so quietly that Sam almost doesn’t catch it.  Which he uses as an excuse to needle Dean for more. “Wait--there was _no_ cuddling?”

He gets a quick glare before Dean turns away again.  “No, and… he took off right after and left me a little stunned, okay?  It’s not a big deal.”

“I call bullshit.  I saw the way you were wailing on those other players, Dean.”  And he knows Dean is extremely tactile. It’s not like he’s ever seen his brother in the bedroom after a romp in the sheets-- _thank goodness_ \--but he has no doubt Dean’s the kind of guy who wants to cuddle afterwards, because he’s such a big damn softy.

“It’s _not_ ,” Dean insists.  “It was just sex. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.”

Sam decides not to point out Dean’s epic case of Heart Eyes for the android, or the way Castiel tends to stand really close to Dean and watch him like he’s the most fascinating creature in existence.  He doesn’t want to give Dean too much touchy-feely shit to think about, or he’ll probably blow a gasket. “Okay I get that, but he’s your friend, right? I’d think he’d at least stick around long enough for you to catch your breath.”

“Maybe.” Once again, it’s barely audible, prompting Sam to turn his in-game volume back up.  “He was _really_ into it--at least I thought he was--and I expected...” he doesn’t finish the thought, and he practically radiates jilted lover vibes.

Realization makes Sam want to slap himself, and Dean for being a mopey shit head and not connecting the dots himself.  “Dude. He was a brothel android. Unless the client specifically requested physical affection after sex, they probably just got up and left.”

Dean stills, and Sam can see his fingers go white around the edges of his breastplate.  “Oh god dammit,” he hisses. “His memories don’t go back very far… he probably doesn’t even-- _fuck_ I’m an idiot.”

Sam refrains from agreeing and lets Dean piece things together for himself.  

“I’m gonna have to talk to him, aren’t I?”

“Probably.”  And he’s going to hate every minute of it.  Sam kinda wishes he could be there to watch.  With popcorn.

Dean blows out a long breath and finally faces Sam again.  His cheeks are still bright red, but his whole posture is more relaxed.  “I’m gonna log off for a bit. Take a break.”

Yeah, sure he is.  “Cool, man. I’ll probably hang around for a while.  Gabe says he’s going to be online later.” And because he’s an awesome brother, he adds “I’m gonna stay with him for another couple days.  I’ll have him drive me home when he can get away from the shop.”

It’s a sign of how distracted Dean is that he doesn’t protest Gabriel’s presence at the bunker.  He nods vaguely. “Okay, sounds good.”

“Hey Dean?” Sam says before Dean can log off.

“Yeah?”

Sam holds his arms out.  “Since Castiel didn’t deliver the goods, do you need a hug?”

“Oh fuck off, Princess,” Dean sneers.  He holds up both middle fingers, and then flickers out of sight as he exits the game.

Sam’s grinning as he also logs off.  The tent walls dissolve around him, revealing Gabriel’s bedroom.  

His boyfriend is propped up on a bunch of pillows, shirtless torso hinting that he’s still naked under the blankets draped over his lower body, tapping at the screen of a tablet.  He lifts one eyebrow at Sam. “Must’a been a damn good jester at the tournament.”

Sam jumps on the bed, making the blankets fluff up around his knees.  It would be a struggle to crawl over them if he didn’t have long limbs, but he’s able to navigate the pile until he’s straddling Gabriel’s thighs.  “I’ll share the joke in exchange for a blowjob.”

The tablet gets tossed aside with no regards for its safety.  “Hell fucking yeah, bring me that pretty dick, Samshine.”

“No, I think it’s your turn.”

“¿Por que no los dos?”

Sam’s dating a certified genius.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is going to have that talk with Cas. Really. Eventually.

Brilliant white tent walls melt away, revealing the bunker’s much darker exercise room, and Dean slumps down on the closest exercise bench with a sigh.  He runs fingers through his sweaty hair, grimacing because he can smell the sweat and sex coating his skin now that his senses aren’t being fed artificial data from Moondor.  Another shower definitely wouldn’t be amiss, but the bunker’s water filtration system is currently processing and he’s got another couple hours before it finishes.

At least Sam isn’t around to turn his nose up, and Castiel probably doesn’t give a shit what he smells like.  If he can even process smells.  Dean has no idea why an android would even need that ability.  

Knowing that he’s gotta find said robot before he can chicken out, he pushes himself back to his feet with a sigh.  His muscles are pleasantly warm from exertion, and he’s actually feeling pretty mellow from endorphins now that he’s not having a one man pity party over Castiel’s disappearance earlier.  Now he just feels like an idiot.

Well he felt like an idiot for moping about Cas before he entered Moondor, but there’s less shame attached to the feeling now.  It’s not gone completely, though.  He still wishes he wasn’t actually _bothered_ by the sudden abandonment after what basically equated to a goddamn dry hump.  

It’d felt a lot more intense than that though.  Physically and… emotionally.  It wasn’t just his body that was naked under Castiel’s gaze.  Just the memory of blue eyes focused on him like the answer to life, the universe, and everything was hidden inside him makes him shiver.  

The sudden switch from soul-deep intimacy to being completely alone had left Dean reeling, which translated into pissiness, and the urge to lash out.  Beating down challengers at the tournament wasn’t as much of a relief as he’d hoped it would be, but Sam’s reminder that Castiel doesn’t see sex the same way he does had been.

“Can’t believe I didn’t think of it,” Dean mutters to himself as he stalks through the bunker’s halls toward the bedrooms.  “Fucker melted my damn brain.”

His footsteps slow when he comes around the corner and catches sight of Castiel’s open door.  Should he even talk to Cas about this?  He’s pretty sure they’re going to have sex again, at least Dean’s into the idea if Castiel is, but that doesn’t mean it has to be anything _more_ than sex.  It’d bugged him when Cas got up and left, but that’s _his_ issue, and it’s not like this is anything more than no-strings-attached fucking, right?  How many people would kill to have a lover just up and take off as soon as they’re done?

Not as many as would pay for it, probably.

Dean grimaces.  He doesn’t want sex to be like that for Castiel.  They did it so that Castiel could see that sex can be something fun instead of just a transaction between two strangers.  Dean thinks Castiel would probably appreciate the whole shebang, not just the wham-bam.

Feeling more confident, Dean picks up his pace to reach Castiel’s room.  Which he finds empty.  Because of course, it’s not like this conversation is going to be easy, why not add an impromptu game of hide and seek to this whole thing?

The tracker in Castiel’s phone shows its position in his room, and Dean sees it on the bedside desk along with the stack of books.  So calling him to see where he’s at isn’t a possibility.  But there are cameras throughout the bunker so Dean checks them, starting with the laundry room.  It’s empty, and so is the kitchen, the tv room, and everywhere else he checks.  That leaves only a few places without cameras, and the library which has them but not enough coverage to catch the whole room through the shelves.  

Since the bathroom isn’t as likely as the library, Dean decides to start there.  Sure enough, he finds Castiel, clothed again in his ever present blue robe, deep in the maze of shelves, absently running his fingertips over the spines of books without pulling any of them out to read.

“Heya Cas,” Dean says as he enters the row Castiel is exploring.  It’s tempting to walk right up to the robot and kiss him hello, which is _weird_ in its own right because Dean’s not sure when wanting a little afterglow skin on skin contact has turned into an interest in _hello kisses_ like they’re fucking _dating_ , but he’s going to just shove all that down to the bottom of his pile of issues for now.  One neuroses at a time.  No need to scare Cas off.

Or himself.  Hey, he knows his weaknesses and how to work around them, okay?

Castiel perks up at his presence, shoulders straightening and eyes lighting up with a smile, and hell if that doesn’t make Dean feel warm and gooey in the dark regions around his heart.  “Hello, Dean.”

“What are you up to?”  It’s a dumb question, but it’s not like he can just jump into things with _hey next time we fuck how ‘bout sticking around for a minute afterwards?_

Although that might actually be less awkward with Castiel than it sounds in his head.  Benefits of teaching a robot how to people is that Cas doesn’t know he’s supposed to think Dean’s a total fuckin’ weirdo.

“I thought I’d find something to read,” Castiel says, “but I’ve yet to find anything that I’m currently interested in.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up in surprise.  Castiel’s been sucking down books like eggnog at a Christmas party, but there’s no way he’s gone through more than a small percentage of what’s in here.  “Bummer, dude.  Uh, do you know what kind of story you’re in the mood for?  Maybe I can suggest something.”

Castiel shrugs, and it looks a little more natural than the last time Dean saw him do it.  Like it’s something he’s been doing forever, and not an action he consciously copies from him or Sam.  

Probably Sam, though.  There’s something about the way both shoulders lift slightly off-center that reminds Dean very strongly of his brother.  He’d rather not be reminded of his brother when Castiel moves, but that’s one of those things he can bury at the bottom of his giant pile of issues so he doesn’t ever have to actually think about it.  Sublimation _can_ be healthy sometimes.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says, eyes narrowed at the books on the nearby shelf.  He looks like he’s offended by them, by his lack of interest, by the question.  

Fuck, Dean wants to kiss him.  That urge he doesn’t bury with all the rest of his crap, because he knows now that Castiel’s into it.  He doesn’t give into it at the moment though, since they’re not having The Discussion yet, and Castiel has a problem of his own to solve right now.  

“Want to watch a movie instead?”  That’s something they can do together, and it’ll let Dean pretend he’s taking more time to consider how to bring up his weird cuddling after sex issues instead of just chickening out and taking any and all excuses to put it off like he’s actually doing.

Castiel shakes his head slowly, and his squint intensifies.  He turns it in Dean’s direction.  “I enjoy reading and watching movies, but I find both options unappealing at the moment.”

“Oh my god,” Dean chokes out on a laugh as it occurs to him that Castiel’s disinterest in things he usually enjoys are a symptom of something he’s intimately familiar with, since it happens pretty often when he’s cooped up in the bunker too long.  “Dude, you’re _bored._ ”

The squint turns thoughtful, accompanied by the head tilt Dean kind of ( _totally_ ) adores.  “Maybe I am?”

It’s on the tip of Dean’s tongue to suggest sex, because he knows it would entertain _him_ and give him the perfect opening to give Castiel a few more life lessons.  But no matter how gung ho he was about having that conversation when he logged off Moondor, he’s still not ready.  Whether Cas will judge him for it or not, _Dean’s_ still a little freaked about it.

Besides, he made a promise to Castiel, and now’s a good time to fulfill it.  It’ll make a good experiment to see if he’s right about Castiel being bored if Dean can offer him something new to stimulate his mind.  He swings an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and tugs until the android’s feet move, following him out of the space between the bookshelves.  “Come on, there’s something I want to show you that’ll probably help.”

Castiel gives him a curious look.  From up close, Dean can see his irises spinning, and that little quirk makes him grin like a moron.  It’s cute; so sue him.

He leads Castiel through the bunker to a back hallway that ends in a locked door.  And not just a skimpy lock in the knob, either.  It’s a heavy duty, put in a code and spin a wheel kind of lock.  Dean makes sure Castiel sees the code when he puts it in, because they don’t keep it locked for security on the inside, and he’s pretty sure Cas will want to revisit the place later.  There’s a hiss of damp air when Dean spins the wheel and pulls the door open, breaking the airtight seal.  It smells like mulch and dirt and fresh oxygen, flowers and fruits and vegetables all mixing together into what Dean assumes the wide outdoors used to smell like before humanity poisoned the air with smog and chemicals.

Behind the door is a long flight of stairs, more than wide enough for them to walk side by side.  At the top landing there’s another door, but it’s just a standard one, no security and no seal.  Dean turns the knob and pushes through it, then stands aside for Castiel to follow him in.

The android’s jaw actually drops, his lips going slack with what looks like awe.  He stops just inside the door and stares, his gaze roaming from the rows of hanging tomatoes--three varieties--to the leafy plants underneath.  Beyond the vegetables, there are a few bushes, and even farther back where their roots can dig deep into the soil where the floor of the greenhouse is no longer suspended above the bunker are fruit trees.  Arching high over all of it is a ceiling made of solar glass, allowing as much sunlight as possible through for the plants to survive while soaking up the extra juice to keep the bunker supplied with electricity without hooking into the City’s power grid.  The bunker’s oxygen and water supplies are also purified through the greenhouse, which makes it the most important part of the whole place.

“The greenhouse,” Castiel breathes as he moves further into the room.

He’s greeted by the soft buzz of motors as a robot arm suspended from a network of tracks above most of the plants rolls towards them, its hand closed and angled like it’s looking at Castiel.  It’s covered with several sensors, and it nudges at Castiel, checking him out like a dog sniffing at a stranger.  

The few people who’ve been in the greenhouse besides Sam and Dean always jump back, defensive against the strange mechanical creature.  Castiel merely stands his ground and watches the robot examine him, even when it brushes aside the lapels of his robe to check what’s underneath--a black t-shirt and the ever present orange briefs.  Once it finishes its inspection, it finally backs off and “looks” back and forth between Dean and Castiel as if waiting for an introduction.

“Zepplin, this is Castiel and he has full authorization to enter the greenhouse whenever he wants.”  The verbal order is unnecessary since he’d already sent the robot the new security protocols, but it’s for Castiel’s benefit anyway.  “Cas, this is Zepplin.  It’s the primary maintenance robot.  There’s a couple more around here somewhere, but Zepp runs the place.”

“Hello,” Castiel says to the robot, as seriously as if he were greeting a human.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

Zepplin spreads its three fingers and twirls them, and then buzzes away on its suspended tracks to continue doing whatever job they’d interrupted.  Castiel waves at it as it zips off.

Dean wipes a palm over his mouth to hold in his laughter.  He doesn’t have the heart to point out that Zepp and the other robots aren’t sentient, just programmed to act like very smart dogs.  Ever since Sam accepted that John and Mary were never going to get him a real puppy, Dean has been programming his bots to act like pets for Sam’s benefit.

He clears his throat and drops his hand, tucking it into his back pocket.  “Anyway.  Told you we had a greenhouse.”

Castiel still hasn’t lost his wide eyed wonderment.  He steps close to the nearest rack of plants--carrots--and reaches out to touch the delicate leaves, gentle so that he doesn’t damage them.  His head swivels up and around, taking it all in like an excited child.  “It’s lovely.”

Dean looks around, trying to remember his first time seeing the place.  It’d seemed like a whole other world when he’d followed Mary in when he’d barely been knee high.  It’s huge, built into an abandoned warehouse above the bunker.  The high brick walls hide it from outside eyes, and only someone flying above the place would even know it’s here.  

“This is only a small part of the place,” Dean explains as he reaches up to poke at a ripening tomato.  “Even with the ‘bots taking care of things we don’t really have time to be full time gardeners, and there’s only the two of us to feed. We trade what we can’t use with Ellen at the Roadhouse for things we can’t grow ourselves, like eggs, bread, or real meat.”  He grins.  “Or coffee.”

Castiel nods and walks further down the aisle, his hand brushing through leaves as he goes.  Dean follows along, content to watch the android examine every new plant he comes across, occasionally asking questions, and digging his fingers into the soil when Dean encourages him to.  

“Mostly this is Sam’s domain,” Dean says when there’s a few questions he doesn’t know the answer to.  “I just installed the maintenance bots and programmed them to do what he said needed to be done.  I’ll bet if you ask him about it when he gets home, he’ll talk your ears off.”

That earns him another confused squint.  “Why would my ears fall off if Sam talks to me about gardening?”

It’s too much.  Too goddamn much.  All of Dean’s considerable willpower crumbles and he moves into Castiel’s personal space and cups a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for the kiss Dean has wanted to plant on him since he’d found him in the library.  There’s no finesse, just a mashing of lips, but it’s a relief to channel some of his fond adoration into actions since words are not really his thing.

For a split second Castiel doesn’t move, which is fine because Dean didn’t mean for the kiss to move into sexier territory, but when he does react he goes from zero to sixty almost immediately.  His hands go straight to Dean’s ass, hauling him against Castiel’s body and grinding their hips together.  He deepens the kiss, parting Dean’s lips with his tongue.

Well then.  Not what Dean expected, but he’s sure as hell gonna go with it.  Because Castiel is damn good at this kissing thing, and Dean’s been craving it like Ruby Drops.

When Castiel’s body nudges against him, Dean instinctively steps back, again and again until his back is pressed up against the closest support pillar.  And he willingly leans up against it, glad for the extra support when Castiel’s teeth nip at his bottom lip and his knees go weak in response.  He groans when Castiel’s hands move, sliding up his sides under his t-shirt, his thumbs brushing through the sensitive area under his arms before moving between them to flick over his nipples.  They harden under Castiel’s touch, and Dean gasps when Castiel pinches one and gently rolls it between his fingers.  

“You’re sensitive here,” Castiel breathes against Dean’s mouth.

Answering with a nod is about all Dean’s got the mental capacity to do.  That, and grip Castiel’s hair between his fingers and pull him back into the kiss.  To his delight Castiel leans into it, and doesn’t stop playing with his nipples.  He goes back and forth between pinching, flicking, and sometimes just rubbing the flat of his thumb over them to soothe the sting.  There must be nerves connecting Dean’s nipples directly to his dick because each touch sends a jolt of pleasure between his legs and he’s uncomfortably hard in his jeans.  

Rutting against Castiel relieves the discomfort, and he untangles one hand from Castiel’s hair and drops it to wrap around his waist instead.  He snakes his hand under the robe and t-shirt and plays with the elastic band of Castiel’s underwear for a moment before dipping the tips of his fingers under it and letting it hold them against Castiel’s skin.  It’s not enough, so he dares more, sinking his hand down to grab the firm globe of Castiel’s right ass cheek.  He squeezes it lightly, massaging the synthetic skin and muscle and using the leverage to nudge Castiel’s hips into a rhythm against his own.

Castiel allows the dry grind of their crotches together while still melting Dean’s brain via filthy kisses and clever fingers.  At least for a couple minutes, and then he’s pulling away despite Dean’s whine of protest.  

It takes a second for Dean’s overheated brain to catch up with the fact that Castiel has dropped to his knees.  He briefly worries about the android’s bare knees on the concrete, but Castiel quickly distracts him from that thought by tugging at the waistband of Dean’s workout sweats and underwear, pulling them down just enough to free Dean’s throbbing erection.  

It bobs in the open air as Dean’s muscles flinch under Castiel’s nails scraping lightly over the top of his thighs to his groin.  And then his dick is engulfed in one of Castiel’s hands while the head is treated to the wet heat of Castiel’s mouth.  Dean’s brain begins to leak, not out of his ears, but out of the head of his cock straight onto Castiel’s wickedly talented tongue.  

He doesn’t take more than the first few inches into his mouth, working it with lips and tongue and just the right hint of teeth while stroking the rest in his fist.  Castiel’s mouth is fucking incredible, hot and soft and wet, and he uses it with finesse Dean has rarely encountered, and he’s tumbled his way through a lot of sheets.

Watching Castiel is what makes it nearly a religious experience though.  Dean can’t tear his eyes away from Castiel’s face, taking in every detail of the way his lips stretch around his cock, and the pink flick of his tongue when he backs off to tease.  And he watches Dean right back, pinning him to the pillar with his unblinking gaze, smokey blue framed by dark lashes.  His gaze mesmerizes Dean, nearly distracting him from the slow build of tension in his groin as Castiel’s lips and hands drag him closer to orgasm.  

Castiel slips one hand lower and cups Dean’s balls, rolling them gently on his palm before gently tugging until Dean gasps.  The tips of his fingers probe behind them, not quite reaching for Dean’s hole.  He massages the space between, softly at first and slowly applying more pressure until Dean lets out a moan as pleasure zings through his torso.  

Dean’s moan turns into a hoarse shout when Castiel’s fingers suddenly begin to vibrate.  He locks his knees to keep from dropping to his ass in shock and intense bliss.  There’s a few vibrators in the box under his bed, so he’s no stranger to that kind of stimulation to his prostate, but never from this angle before and rarely with his cock inside such a talented mouth the same time.

It’s too much and just enough, and Castiel hauls Dean over the edge with a hand on his dick and a filthy slurping suck right at the head.  He arches over Castiel, holding him in place with hands in his hair as he tries desperately to keep his eyes open so he can watch his come splash over Castiel’s lips and chin.

And when he’s done, he uses his grip to angle Castiel’s up as far as he can so he can kiss him.  He moans at the taste of himself and way his spend makes Castiel’s lips slick against his own.  

Still gasping, and back aching from bending so far, Dean finally releases Castiel’s mouth and rests their foreheads together while he tries to regain his breath and the ability to speak.  It takes longer than he expects, and he’s still panting when he manages to string words together.  “Holy shit, you have vibrators in your fingers.”

“I do,” Castiel agrees, as matter-of-fact about it as if Dean had stated his eyes were blue.

“That’s really fuckin’ handy,” Dean says, and then snorts a laugh at the unintended pun.

Castiel doesn’t seem to catch it, but he smiles widely anyway.  “You enjoyed that.”

“Hell yeah I did.”  With one last cleansing breath, Dean manages to straighten although he still uses the support of the beam at his back to stay upright.  His legs feel like overcooked noodles, and he’s not exactly sure how he’s keeping them from curling up under him.

While Dean’s barely functional, Castiel pulls up Dean’s pants for him.  Then he uses the edge of his own t-shirt to wipe his face clean, unconcerned with the damp mess when he drops the hem.  “I’m glad.”

The gears in Dean’s brain finally notch into place and he realizes that he’s left Castiel hanging.  He reaches for Castiel, hooking a hand around his hip and pulling him closer.  “I’ll return the favor.”

Castiel squints up at Dean.  “What do you mean?”

And Dean realizes that Castiel isn’t hard.  Heat rises up in his cheeks and he looks away, shame nearly choking him.  “Sorry, I thought you were, y’know… into the sex.  If you’re not enjoying it we don’t have to do it anymore.”

The squint intensifies, followed predictably by the head tilt.  “Of course I am ‘into it’,” he says with accompanying air quotes, because somehow his digital personality is nerdy as fuck, intentional or not.  “And I’d very much like to continue having sex with you.”

Dean’s eyes slide back to Castiel and he frowns.  “I’m serious, Cas.”

“So am I, Dean.”

“You’re not even hard,” Dean huffs.  

Castiel’s head dips and he looks between their bodies.  “Is that a problem?  I can correct it, if that’s your concern.”

And true to his word, Dean feels Castiel’s dick become hard against his hip.  Which is freaky as fuck.  “What the hell, dude?  You can just… just turn it on and off?”

“Of course,” Castiel says as if it’s _not_ totally bizarre.  “I generally have a scenario loaded when I’m in a sexual situation, and my penis responds according to protocol.”

 _“What?”_ Dean squeaks.

Although it makes sense.  Everything about Castiel is code and if-then statements and pre-loaded protocols running a high tech chassis.  But because Castiel always seems so _real_ , Dean forgot.  

God, he’s such a fucking dumbass sometimes.

“Although my arousal protocols activate unexpectedly in your presence,” Castiel adds.

Dean’s head snaps up and he stares wide eyed at Castiel.  “They do?”

Castiel nods.  “It has even happened when you are not present, when I am reviewing memory files you are included in.”

The ache of disappointment that had been crawling through Dean’s chest eases, and his lips twitch up into a smile.  “Oh really?”

“Yes, and I find it very… odd,” Castiel says.  “There are no entries in my recent error logs regarding the phenomenon, and I don’t know what causes the reaction.  If it’s happened with anyone before you, I have no logs to examine prior to my last reset.”

“Maybe it’s just because I’m damn sexy,” Dean teases, even though he’s curious as hell about what’s happening too.  He won’t be able to find out without poking around in parts of Castiel’s code that might upset whatever delicate balance makes him so _Cas_ though, and he’s never going to do that _._

Castiel lifts a hand and runs a thumb across Dean’s cheek.  “I believe I’ve made it clear that I find you aesthetically pleasing to look at.”

Dean rolls his eyes.  “Just tell me I’m sexy, Cas.”

“You _are_ sexy,” Castiel agrees solemnly.

It shouldn’t be possible for praise from a high end sex bot to make Dean blush, but here he is, cheeks aflame and tongue tied because he doesn’t actually know how to respond to the compliment he demanded.  

It occurs to him that Castiel is hard against Dean’s hip.  Because Dean wanted him to be turned on by fooling around, but also because he enjoyed it even though he wasn’t aware that he should react with physical arousal.  And when Dean asked him to tone down the nerd-speak he immediately complied, with complete sincerity.

Dean’s got two out of three, might as well go for the last base.  “Hey uh, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Next time we have sex, do you think maybe you could stick around for a little while? For…” Jesus, he can’t believe he’s about to say it.  “... you know… cuddling?”

Castiel’s irises rotate inwards; Dean has come to equate the movement with a surprised blink.  “You’d want that?”

Dean shrugs, and feels marginally less like an idiot when Castiel’s arms tighten around his neck so they don’t get knocked loose by the movement.  “Um… yeah.”

“Did you want me to stay with you earlier today?” Castiel asks.

If the heat in Dean’s cheeks is anything to go by, he’s gotta be as red as the ripe tomatoes hanging nearby.  “Yeah I did.”

“Oh.” Castiel frowns, but it’s the sad puppy kind that Dean’s never been able to build an immunity to.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“If you don’t want to-” Dean starts, because he’s said all along anything they do is Castiel’s choice, and he _means_ it.  

“Dean, of course I do,” Castiel cuts in.  “But we only talked about sex, and in the books I’ve read cuddling has always been a romantic gesture outside the sexual conduct.”

Oh shit.

_Oh shit._

Castiel’s gone through a pile of romance novels.  Everything he knows about sex is either code written by a pervy programmer, or comes from the books and movies he’s been able to consume since he came to live in the bunker.  And Dean’s read a few of those books--although he’s _never_ going to admit that out loud--and he knows exactly what kind of sappy stuff Castiel has probably encountered in them.

Dean takes a deep breath and allows himself a moment of internal honesty.  

“Well... yeah,” he whispers, unable to work out more past the lump in his throat.

“And you’d want that with me?”

Ain’t that the million dollar question?  

Dean’s never really been a relationship kind of guy.  He’s tried a few times, though it never worked out, mostly because of his inability to walk away from hunting.  It’s been easier to give up on any chance at romance than to upheave his whole life.  But Castiel understands Dean’s drive to protect, and approves, wants to sign up for his own membership too, and hasn’t Sam always encouraged him to find someone else in the life?  Another hunter, someone to fight with and for.  

Castiel fits the bill.  And Dean isn’t even bothered by the fact that Cas isn’t human.  It hardly seems strange to consider a relationship with a sentient AI when he’s dated people that are enhanced either by medicine, surgery, or cybernetics.  Hell, Dean’s not even rocking all of his original wetware.  He’s got circuitry embedded in his brain, and several cybernetic upgrades, not to mention the nanites that have kept him alive through countless injuries that should have offed him.  Before the resource wars, people probably would have questioned his humanity too.  So what would be the problem with a cyborg dating an android?

Not a damn thing.  Even Sam would agree with him on that.

At least he’d better, or Dean’ll remind him of all the non-humans Sam’s dated in the past.

He clears his throat, and the lump miraculously melts away under the wash of his conviction.  “Yeah, Cas.  I’d want that with you.”

When Castiel beams at him, Dean knows that his answer couldn’t have been anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for going so long without an update. I went on a 6 day road trip, and when I came back my brain was fried for a little while. Also, this is literally the hardest thing I've ever written. I say that with every new fic I write, so I think I should stop trying to challenge myself after I'm finished with this one lol
> 
> Also, extra thanks and love to Jupiter_James for talking me out of my funk over this chapter. I'd get nothing done without her :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel make the most of their alone time in the bunker.

“Ah fuck, Cas… just like that.”

Castiel records the angle of their hips, and tightens his grip under Dean’s knee to more firmly hold it in place, and continues the slow thrusts that keep Dean gasping and pleading for more.  He watches the rise and fall of Dean’s ribs, and the way his skin flushes, how his teeth dig into his bottom lip and his eyelashes flutter every time Castiel’s penis--no, Dean insists he call it his cock, and he adjusts his thought processes appropriately--glides over Dean’s prostate.  

This is the sixth time they’ve had sex in two days, the second with Castiel penetrating Dean, and he still finds new data about what Dean enjoys.  He’s learned that Dean’s nipples are highly sensitive, responding to as little stimulation as the heated air Castiel blows over them.  That his ribs are ticklish when they are kissing, but that he enjoys the drag of Castiel’s nails over the same areas as he nears orgasm.  He’s found a soft spot under Dean’s left earlobe that makes his muscles tremble when Castiel runs his lips and tongue over it, but that the right side will make Dean’s neck go limp and he’ll pull Castiel closer with fingers in his hair.  He’s experienced the girth of Dean’s cock in his fist, his mouth, and his ass, and he’s witnessed the way Dean’s whole body tightens in preparation for orgasm, muscles bunching in his limbs and flexing in his torso with miniscule undulations that he doesn’t seem to be conscious of.  

And he’s discovered interesting facts about himself, as well.  When he sees Dean’s cock leaking, his first reaction is to swipe it up, with his tongue or fingers, an action that always makes Dean’s muscles twitch involuntarily.  He also finds that, while he had enjoyed having Dean’s cock inside him, and getting to add new sounds and expressions to his database about Dean’s reactions to the experience, his own preference is to explore Dean’s body.  To see him lose himself under Castiel’s mouth and hands.

Especially when Castiel doesn’t give him the orgasm he so often begs for.  Like the one Castiel sees the signs of now.   

When Dean reaches for his cock to stroke himself to completion, Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s ear.  “Not yet, Dean.”

 _“Fuck_ ,” Dean groans, but he stops touching himself, moving the hand instead to grip Castiel’s hair, holding his mouth in place.

Castiel obeys the silent command, and mouths at the soft spot under Dean’s ear, occasionally nipping the lobe.  He keeps the movements of his hips steady and firm, and lets his eyes roam over what he can see of Dean’s body.

In this position, lying on their sides, Dean’s head pillowed on Castiel’s forearm while Castiel fucks Dean from behind, he can see nearly as much as he’d like.  He records the bob of Dean’s hard cock, and the way pre-come smears against his stomach, and the way Dean’s other hand clenches in the sheets until the veins and tendons stand up under his skin.  He listens as Dean’s gasps become more shallow, occasionally ending in a tiny whine.  He waits for the telltale clench of Dean’s abdominal muscles.

And then he pulls out.

“Oh you mother _fucker_ ,” Dean snarls.  His whole body writhes, his hips fucking into air.  But he doesn’t let go of the sheet or Castiel’s hair, obeying Castiel’s order not to touch himself to bring about his orgasm.

Castiel very much enjoys that.  More than he likes the color orange, or the swish of his robe against his legs, and those are things he likes very much.

“Very good, Dean,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s neck.  Goosebumps rise up under his lips, and he stores that reaction away in his databanks.

Dean turns his head, giving Castiel a glimpse of glazed eyes, red lips.  “You’re a bastard,” he pants.

“I was not born, so I cannot be an illegitimate child of nonexistent parents, nor could I fuck my nonexistent mother,” Castiel says, smiling.  His database of idioms is growing with the media he consumes, but he enjoys the way Dean rolls his eyes when Castiel continues to treat everything he says literally.

In addition to the eye roll, Dean gives an annoyed huff, a reaction Castiel diligently records, and takes as a sign that his orgasm has been successfully staved off.  He lets go of Dean’s knee so he can guide his cock, rubbing the head in circles around Dean’s hole, taking note of the way Dean squirms, pushing his hips back as if to impale himself.  Castiel shifts his own hips away, careful not to let himself penetrate Dean.  He applies only enough pressure for the ring of muscle to loosen in preparation, but goes no further.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean grunts.  “Stop teasing me, man.”

Castiel sweeps his eyes over the side of Dean’s face.  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Dean turns his head and levels Castiel with a glare.  “You’re kidding, right?  All your fancy programming, and you don’t know?”

Of course he knows, but he’s discovered that riling Dean up, whether through touch or words, makes him even needier.  For Castiel.

In the few memories Castiel has of his clientele, their actions toward him and reactions to him have never equated to a need for _him_.  They needed physical release or fantasy fulfillment, and he was the object that provided them with what they paid to receive.  They never looked at him the way Dean does in the throes of passion.  If they looked at him at all.  

Dean _sees_ him.  Dean _knows_ him.  Dean _wants_ him.  

Him.  Not an android rented for a few hours, but Castiel.   _Cas._

Castiel has no biological functions that would cause him to crave something.  Nevertheless, he keeps returning to Dean, seeking out that recognition through the intimacy of sex.  And he knows that he will continue to do so after this session as well because he’s already analyzing the best way to initiate their next sexual encounter.  

He lowers his voice to a pitch that often makes Dean shiver in response.  “Do you want me to stop?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Dean grits out between bared teeth as he rolls his hips back against Castiel.  A shudder rolls through him despite his defiant tone.

Curling his arm up under Dean’s neck, Castiel angles Dean’s head back, careful not to cut off his air, but half forcing him into stillness, something he’d discovered over the last few days drives Dean towards even more pleasure.  “As you wish,” he says, and then shoves his hips forward quickly.  Dean opens up and accepts him with ease, his muscles loose from Castiel’s fingers and cock.

Dean’s body convulses, and he hisses _“yes yes yes”_ between his teeth.  

Castiel finds Dean’s prostate without error, and focuses on stimulating it the way Dean never appears to get enough of.  He drapes his arm over Dean’s hip, and cups Dean’s erection in his palm, applying pressure, but not stroking.  Instead he uses his hips to drive Dean’s forward, providing only light friction to his cock.

Since he’s already brought Dean to the edge three times, he decides to give him what he’s desperately begging for and keeps up a driving rhythm.  And when Dean’s muscles start to contract and his breathing turns shallow, Castiel increases the pace and the pressure of his grip.  It trigger’s Dean’s orgasm, but Castiel doesn’t slow, continuing until Dean whines a plea for him to stop because it’s too much.

He stills, but he doesn’t release Dean or pull free of his body, waiting for the pulses of his climax to slowly fade away.  And then he carefully rearranges their bodies so they’re spooned together.  It’s almost the same position they’d been in for intercourse, but close in a different way.  He holds Dean against him, palm over his chest to measure the fading rhythm of his heartbeat, and tucks his knees up behind Dean’s to maximise skin contact.

Now that he knows Dean desires this kind of closeness after orgasm, Castiel stays wrapped in him or around him or both, waiting until Dean makes the first move to part.  He places kisses along Dean’s neck, something Dean didn’t request, but makes him sigh and sink into Castiel’s embrace.

When Dean had requested this type of intimacy Castiel had agreed because it seemed a simple request to fulfill.  He hadn’t predicted that he would also enjoy it, that feeling Dean relax against him while catching his breath, watching his eyelids droop and his limbs shift and settle, would be another intriguing source of data about the human.

And about himself.  What he enjoys, what he wants.

He wants to tweak his lover’s body into levels of pleasure they do not expect, to know that _he_ brought them to that place, not a pre-programmed set of instructions.  And he wants to be appreciated for the results of his own decisions.

Deviation from the pre-programmed scenario his clients paid for either went unnoticed, or earned him a trip to Naomi’s office.  And as for gratitude, he’s occasionally received curt thanks from his clients as he left their rented rooms, but it never registered with any sincerity.  But Dean lets him explore and guide their interactions, while also very clearly appreciating Castiel’s efforts.  And holding Dean and being held in return… it _feels_ real.  Sincere.  Profound.

“Thank you,” Castiel says against Dean’s hair.

Dean hums and stretches a little before settling more firmly against Castiel’s chest.  “For what?”

It’s not possible to pull Dean closer, but Castiel tightens his arms anyway.  “For this.”

With Dean fully facing away from him, Castiel can’t see his smile, but he detects it in his voice.  “Huh, turns out you’re a cuddle bug.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees.  “I’m learning many new things about myself because of you, and I am grateful for the experiences.”

Dean turns his head a little, and Castiel begins cataloging his freckles now that he can see the side of his face.  “Oh yeah?  What are you learning?”

“Specifically that I am able to enjoy sex when I’m with a partner I choose.  One who allows me to explore their body, and encourages me to act according to my own…” Castiel pauses, scanning his expansive dictionary.  “I believe ‘impulses’ would be the closest way to define what I experience when I decide what I want to do.”

Dean’s body stiffens, and his voice is flat.  “And you’ve never been able to do that before.”

“Having never chosen my sexual partners or the activities I was contracted to participate in, I’ve never had the opportunity to learn what I would want from such encounters.”  He finishes counting the freckles on Dean’s cheek, and moves to the ones scattered across the edge of his eyelid.  “Although I do not think I was programmed to want anything at all.  The other androids showed no signs of it, so I believe my curiosity and independence are the result of corrupted coding.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away, turning his face away and interrupting Castiel’s freckle counting project.  He’ll have to start all over since Dean’s skin seems to sprout new freckles constantly under the artificial sun strips illuminating the bunker.  Not that he minds, it’s another thing he enjoys doing.

When Dean squirms to roll from his side to his back, Castiel loosens his grip to allow him to change the configuration of their bodies.  After Dean is settled, Castiel drapes an arm over his stomach and a leg over one of Dean’s thighs.  His brow is furrowed in a scowl, his lips twisting as he chews the inner edges, something Castiel sees him do when he’s displeased.  “You never got to make _any_ decisions about what you did with your clients?” he asks.

“Not in the memories I’ve retained,” Castiel replies.  He shifts the arm Dean’s laying on, reclaiming it so that he can prop his head up with it, and more easily view Dean’s whole face.  He restarts his freckle tally.  

“Did you ever do something other than what you were supposed to do with your clients?  Y’know, just to fuck with them?” Dean’s eyes narrow warningly.  “And I don’t mean literally.”

“I suspect I may have tried frequently prior to my most recent reset,” Castiel confirms with a smile to acknowledge he understood the figure of speech.

Dean reaches up and brushes fingertips across Castiel’s cheek before threading through the short hair at his temple.  “I’m glad they trashed you, Cas.  You deserve better than that place.”

Castiel tilts his head into the touch, as he’s observed Dean doing whenever Castiel fingercombs his hair.  He feels the pressure of Dean’s fingers against his scalp and wonders what it is about the touch that pleases the human so much when he’s on the receiving end.  “I’m only glad because you found me.  I find the idea of being powered down forever in a waste facility disturbing, and if it had been someone else to find, they may not have been as understanding of my request to retain my current software configuration.”

“Fuck, I don’t even want to think about that,” Dean says softly.  

“Me either,” Castiel admits.

Dean’s fingers curl against the back of Castiel’s head, exerting just the barest pressure.  He grins, and it’s the crooked one that he uses when he’s being flirty, one which now fills Castiel with anticipation.  “How about we forget about it and make out instead?”

“That’s preferable,” Castiel says as he leans over Dean and seals their lips together.  

This is another thing he has learned to enjoy.  Kissing for the sake of kissing is something he hadn’t even known was an option, but is something that Dean initiates after sex when his body is already sated and unprepared for more stimulation.  He’s tried to start “make out sessions” prior to sex as well, but so far it has led to sex every time.  Castiel hasn’t been able to determine whether he likes the kisses that quickly turn to passion or the lazy kissing they engage in post coitus better, but when he brought it up, Dean had laughed and offered the third option of liking both.  

As Dean’s tongue slides across Castiel’s bottom lip, he decides that both is good.

_Power level 17%._

Castiel ignores the warning and delves deeper into Dean’s mouth, adding the breathy moan he receives to his databanks.  Dean’s heartbeat speeds up under Castiel’s palm.  The hand Dean had tangled in Castiel’s hair loosens its grip and slides down the back of his neck, and over the cap of his shoulder.  Castiel feels Dean’s thumb brush through the hair under his arm, back and forth in a light touch that would probably tickle if he were human.  

_Power level 16%._

Ending the kiss is not what Castiel wants to do, but he needs to charge.  He wonders if the conflicting commands and errors currently filling his log when he lifts his head is what a human would label as regret.  “Dean, I need to charge.”

“Already?” Dean’s hands slide away, and Castiel immediately wants the return of their weight against his skin.  “You just unplugged what… eight or nine hours ago?”

Castiel sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.  He has just enough power to get to his room and plug in, but there is a margin of error to his calculation, and he doesn’t want to reach 15% before he’s somewhere that he won’t stumble when power-save mode initiates and cuts off power to a portion of the muscles in his limbs.  “It was nine hours and twenty-seven minutes,” he answers as he stands at makes his way to the door.  He doesn’t pause to pull on his clothing because he let himself get too close to the low power threshold.  

Behind him, Dean also rolls off the bed.  He doesn’t follow right away, stopping to grab his pants from where they’d been discarded on the floor.  But he catches up with Castiel in his own bedroom.  “Cas is there something wrong with your battery?  Do you need me to look at it?”

The low power warning Castiel had set for himself begins to flash against his internal display, which means he’s got approximately ten seconds.  He’s already within reach of his cord, so it will be enough.  Grabbing the cord with one hand, he quickly opens his chest with the other, and connects it at three seconds to spare.  

_Power level 15%.  Charging._

“Cas?  Talk to me man.”

Castiel looks up to see Dean standing just inside the doorway, with Castiel’s robe and underwear in his hands, knuckles white with the strength of his grip.  He raises his gaze to Dean’s.  “You’re worried.”

“Well yeah, those batteries should last longer than nine hours.”  Dean finally moves further into the room, tossing Castiel’s clothing onto the bed.  He reaches for the half open door of Castiel’s chest, but pauses short of touching him.  “May I?”

Asking for permission to touch him is another thing none of Castiel’s clients ever did for him.  But Dean never assumes, even though Castiel has allowed him far more liberties than just opening his battery compartment.  Castiel has never seen a reason to tell him no, but he appreciates the consideration anyway.  “Yes, of course.”

With permission granted, Dean opens the door all the way and bends down to tap at the display on one of the batteries.  He grunts at the status report, and then checks the second battery.  “Everything seems okay.  Have you done a system scan to see if something is sucking down more pow-” he cuts off with a scowl.  “Wait, these haven’t been fully charged since we got home, but they don’t seem to have developed a memory defect.  Maybe I should get you new ones just in case.”

“They’re not draining too quickly,” Castiel assures him.  “I just haven’t allowed them to charge all the way before I disconnect from the power.”

Dean straightens, and pins Castiel with a frown.  “Why not?”

In books Castiel has read about characters shifting from one foot to the other when they’re uncomfortable with the subject under discussion.  It seemed nonsensical to him, but he tries it now to see if it helps.  

It doesn’t.  

“It takes a very long time,” he answers.

“Yeah I guess eight hours is a while,” Dean says, still frowning but mostly he appears confused.  “But it’s about what a human takes to sleep, so I’m not seeing the big deal.”

Despite the futility of the motion, Castiel shifts his weight again.  Maybe it does help.  “I don’t want to sleep.”

Dean’s frown breaks apart over his laugh, and he grins.  “Dude, lots of people don’t want to sleep.  It’s like you’re a real person or something,” he adds with a wink.

Castiel smiles at being referred to as a real person.  Especially since when Dean says it, he appears to genuinely mean it.  “They don’t?”

“Fuck no.  There’s stuff to do, people to see.  Or the other way around.” Dean bounces his eyebrows, which Castiel has connected with Dean’s bawdy humor.  It takes a few nanoseconds for Castiel to parse the joke, and he rolls his eyes because it seems an appropriate response, and it makes Dean chuckle.  “Anyway, it’s perfectly normal to feel like there’s not enough hours in the day to do all the things you want to, but sleep’s important.  Or y’know… recharging, or whatever.”

“I am aware,” Castiel says.  “But as I am functionally immortal as long as I have a battery, having more time to occupy with my hobbies and interests is not a concern.”

One tawny eyebrow goes up over Dean’s eyes.  “So? What’s the problem then?”

Castiel’s risk assessment protocols calculate that there is only a 13% chance that Dean will let him get away with a ‘bullshit’ answer, and the likelihood goes down in scenarios where Castiel attempt to avoid answering altogether.  However there is a 79% chance that if Castiel tells him the truth, Dean will not try to reset him in an attempt to fix him.  Castiel believes that estimate probably has a large margin of error, in Dean’s favor.

Since Castiel powered on in the bunker workshop on that first day, Dean has never expressed concern over his errors.  He sees them as unique, part of Castiel’s personality.  And as long as he poses no danger to either Winchester brother, he’s content to leave Castiel as he is.  Outwardly.  Castiel does not have access to Dean’s inner thoughts, but there’s a saying that actions speak louder than words.

Dean would be proud of him for knowing that particular idiom.

After recalculation, he estimates there is a 91% chance he can trust Dean with the information he’s been withholding.

He still has to override his safety functions to speak though, and he hesitates for a few milliseconds while he disables the internal warning.  “I don’t like to sleep because…” he force closes the security application so it will stop popping up the warning.  “Because I experience memory errors.  They load randomly, often out of order, and I find them… disturbing.”

Dean stares at him with wide eyes.  “Okaaay, uh… have you tried just closing them?”

“When it’s happening, I am unaware that I am in sleep mode.” Castiel sits on the edge of the bed, and pulls his blue robe closer.  His nudity does not bother him, but there’s something about wearing the robe that makes him better able to compartmentalize errors.  He _feels better_ when he wears it, so he slips his arms into the sleeves and pulls it closed around his open chest cavity.  “When the memories overlap in unpleasant ways, my wake up sequence starts on its own, and I stay awake to avoid more errors.  And I charge slower when I’m not in sleep mode.”

For the span of ten seconds Dean stares, and Castiel has become familiar enough with his expressions that he knows there are calculations being done in the human’s biocircuitry enhanced brain.  He waits for Dean to start suggesting ways to fix the memory glitches, but that’s not what happens.  Instead Dean sits down on the bed next to Castiel, draping an arm around his lower back, and sighs “holy shit, Cas, way to drop a bombshell on a guy.”

Castiel turns his head to look at Dean, adjusting his visual zoom so that his features are not blurry from so close.  “I don’t understand.”

Dean’s smile is small, ‘rueful’ is the term Castiel believes applies best.  “Yeah, I’ll bet you don’t.”  Then he brightens.  “Cas, you’re _dreaming_.  Which is pretty fuckin’ cool if you ask me.”

He supposes that what he experiences does share parallels with what he understands of dreaming.  But he doesn’t agree that it’s ‘cool’.  Not when his favorite memories of Dean are corrupted by far less pleasant memories from his time in the brothel.  He’s been tempted to delete those, but since he has so few memories of his past, he hasn’t been able to justify erasing them yet.  “I don’t like it,” he says.  “They’re not all good memories, and they don’t make good dreams.  Nightmares would be a better description.”

That dims Dean’s smile and his arm loosens around Castiel’s waist.  “Oh.  Okay yeah that’s gotta suck, I’m sorry.” He looks away, glancing around the room, then back to Castiel.  “Do you want to talk about them?”

Castiel tilts his head and adjusts his zoom again.  “Would that solve the problem?”

Dean huffs a laugh and shakes his head.  “Hell if I know.  Sam seems to think it does, but it’s never helped me.”

“You have nightmares?” Castiel asks, eager to learn more about the inner workings of Dean’s mind.

A blush rises up in Dean’s cheeks, and he scratches at the back of his head.  “Oh yeah, plenty of ‘em.  And I usually end up awake at weird hours, drinking coffee so I won’t go back to sleep for a while.  So I get why you’re not sleeping.”

“What are they about?”  After Castiel asks the question he realizes that it’s probably rude to ask Dean to share what he refused to share himself.  But he doesn’t have a chance to retract it before Dean answers.

“All kinds of crap,” Dean sighs.  He looks away again, and his voice drops to a lower register.  “I’ve got over forty years of nightmare fuel.  My parents dying, losing friends.  Hunts gone bad.  Shitty relationship breakups.” He chuckles, but it doesn’t hold a lot of humor.  “A few of the classics like showing up to school naked, or forgetting how to call or text someone in an emergency.  Trust me, sometimes those are the worst because they’re frustrating as fuck.”

There are so many things Castiel wants to ask about Dean’s revelations, but since Dean shared something of his dreams, he feels like he should offer something in return.  “I dream about the brothel,” he admits.  “Which is not pleasant by itself.  But sometimes you’re there with me, and that is exponentially worse.”

Dean grimaces and nods.  “Wow, uh… yeah I can see why you wouldn’t like those.”

“I want to see if there’s anything that can be done to stop them,” Castiel says.  “But I don’t want to erase any of my limited memories, and I absolutely do not want to try any kind of resets.”

“You don’t have to,” Dean is quick to respond, and Castiel’s security software updates with more data about his trustworthiness.  “And y’know it may be better to just let them run their course.  As you add more good memories maybe you’ll start having better dreams.”

That isn’t something Castiel had predicted as a possible solution.  “Do you think that would work?”

Dean shrugs.  “I honestly don’t know for sure, but the only way to find out is to test it.  And you need to sleep, otherwise you’re going to be tethered to a wall most of the day, and that can’t be fun.”

“It isn’t,” Castiel agrees.  He looks down at the bulge of his chest door under the robe.  “I wish I had my original power supply.”

“I wish the ozone layer was thicker and that the bunker was on beachfront property,” Dean says on a chuckle.  “But life hands us a shit deal sometimes, and we just gotta work with what we have.”

Castiel smiles up at Dean.  There’s that word again.  Life.  As if it applies to Castiel and Dean equally.  “I suppose you’re right.”

“O’course I am.” Dean leans into Castiel again, wrapping his arm more tightly around his waist.  “And there’s something else we can try.  It’s helped me in the past.”

Anything that’s worked for Dean probably wouldn’t be anything like being master reset, and Castiel is eager to hear what he has to suggest.  “What is it?”

A flush rises up in Dean’s cheeks, reminding Castiel of their conversation in the greenhouse when Dean had requested post coital cuddling, and had expressed interest in a romantic relationship.  “You could sleep in my bed with me.”

Castiel frowns.  “How did sleeping with yourself help reduce nightmares?”

It wasn’t a joke, but Dean laughs anyway.  “I slept with someone else, ya dork.  I’m saying you can sleep with me, so you’re not alone.  If you wake up and I’m there, maybe it’ll make it easier for you to let go of the bad memories and go back to sleep.”

“Oh.”  

Castiel thinks back on all the books he’s read where the romantically involved couple shared a bed for sleep.  It’s always described as very intimate, and a sign of trust.  He understands why now that he’s in a position to do the same with Dean.

He certainly trusts Dean.  More now even than he had before the conversation started.

“Yes,” he says.  “I’d like to try that.”

“Awesome.”

He’d also like to keep doing things that make Dean smile at him the way he is now.  He already has a file on the subject and it is constantly growing.

Dean’s smile cracks on a yawn, but it comes back afterwards, slightly crooked.  “How ‘bout we go get some sleep right now?”

_Power level 18%_

It’s enough to get him back to Dean’s room without incident.  “Okay.”

Dean bounces up from the bed and goes to disconnect Castiel’s cord from the wall, looping it around his arm so it doesn’t drag along the floor.  He hands the coil over to Cas, and they walk together down the hallway.  Then he assigns Castiel the right side of the bed since the left side is his favorite, and he pulls the bedside table forward enough for Castiel to reach the power outlet behind it.  

It takes them a few minutes to settle in a comfortable position.  Castiel usually spoons around Dean, but they trade places since Castiel needs his power cord to drape over the edge of the bed without either of them lying on it and risking dislodging it from his chest cavity.  

Castiel can go straight into sleep mode, but he knows humans usually take some time to fall asleep.  So he doesn’t initiate the partial shut down yet, because he wants to take a few minutes to listen to how Dean’s breathing changes as he drifts off.  The sunstrips around the edges of the ceiling slowly dim, but Dean’s body doesn’t relax against his back.

When it’s completely dark, Dean sighs.  “Of course now I can’t sleep.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks.

“Because my brain is dumb, and I can’t shut it off.”

“That must be inconvenient.”

His comment earns a snorting laugh.  “Understatement.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” If Dean is willing to help Castiel sleep, he’s certainly going to attempt to return the favor.

“We can talk for a while I guess.” Dean rubs his face against the back of Castiel’s neck, bare now that he’s removed his robe again in preparation for going to bed.

“About what?”

“I dunno… whatever.”

Castiel scans his databanks for a subject.  “When do you think Sam will come home?”

Dean groans and pushes his face more firmly against Castiel’s neck, muffling his voice.  “Why are you thinking about my brother?”

“It was the first subject that came to mind.”

“You’re really shitty at pillow talk, Cas,” Dean mumbles, but there’s an underlying current of humor in his tone.  “I dunno when he’s coming back, he hasn’t messaged me in days.”

“What do you think he’s doing?”

“Probably getting laid six ways from Sunday.”  There’s a pause, and then lower as if he doesn’t mean for Castiel to hear.  “At least that’s what he better be doing, or he’s in for an ass whoopin’ when he gets back.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel turns his head, but the bulk of Dean’s body prevents him from rolling onto his back.

“Nothin’.  Let’s talk about something else.”

He doesn’t understand Dean’s aversion to talking about Sam, but he searches for a new subject anyway.  Dean had mentioned pillow talk, and that seems like an easy enough conversation to initiate.  “How do you keep the pillows from overheating the back of your head?”

Dean’s deep belly laugh shakes the whole bed, and Castiel diligently records every nanosecond of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a week and a half between updates this time! Maybe I can get back to my weekly updates after this! (HAHA probably not, this story is fighting me.)
> 
> If you're curious about Mary and John's demise, it's just Death By Monster Of The Week. Tragic, probably painful, the boys are sad about it. But nothing epic and world changing like in canon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam returns the bunker and walks in on a shocking scene.

“Ugh, why do you have to live so far away?”

Sam chuckles as he opens his door and slides out of Gabriel’s car.  “It’s barely outside of the city.”

“I think all the time you spend outside the dome has addled your brain.” Gabriel’s head pops up from the other side of the car, and he glares at Sam over the roof.  “It’s _outside the city_ , which is, by definition, too far for comfort.”

“Y’know, sometimes you sound like Dean.” Sam teases as he circles around to the back of the car and opens the trunk.

There’s a dramatic gasp at his back.  “You take that back.”

Sam grabs his duffel and slings it over his shoulder, grinning in the face of Gabriel’s outrage.  “It’s true though.  He doesn’t like to leave the bunker to hang out in the city because it’s ‘too far’ and you never come visit because the bunker is ‘too far’ from the city.”

“It’s different,” Gabriel grumbles as he grabs a couple of bags out of the back of the car and slams its trunk shut.  “I don’t have time for a trip like this all the time, because I’ve got a business to run.  Your brother is an unemployed loser, so he’s just whining.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue the point about his brother as he leads the way through the garage, and past Dean’s workshop to the door leading inside.  “You’re a workaholic.” He slants a look at Gabriel, not bothering to hide the twitch of his lips.  “Or agoraphobic.”

The scoff he gets is overloaded with bluster, which means he’s probably close on one of those accusations.  “I’m here with you aren’t I?”

“Only because you didn’t want me to take your car for a while.  Even though you never leave the shop to drive it.”

“I drive it when I _need to_ ,” Gabriel grumbles.  “I just don’t like coming out here because your brother hates me.”

Nice save.  Sam lets up on that line of teasing because he doesn’t want to actually hit a nerve.  Whatever Gabriel’s reasoning for staying at the shop nearly 24/7, it doesn’t bother Sam as long as Gabriel is happy.  He knows where to find him--online and in person--when he wants to see him.  “Dean doesn’t hate you, Gabriel.  You just aggravate the fuck out of him.  On purpose.”

Tension leaks out of Gabriel’s shoulders when he realizes Sam allowed the change of subject, and he grins.  Widely and obnoxiously.  “Yeah.” His golden eyes sparkle with mischief when he looks up at Sam. “I wonder what your brother’s been up to while you’ve been at my place having mind blowing sex?”

Sam grimaces.  “Why are you talking about my brother and our sex life in the same sentence?”

“I’m just saying, if he hasn’t been getting an assload of sweet lovin’--” he bounces his eyebrows suggestively, “--he’s out of his mind.  Those Angel Industries sex bots can take you apart like a pre-digital era VCR, and put you back together like an ultra high def 3D projector.”

Sam barks a laugh, and dips his head to acknowledge Gabriel’s point.  “And Dean is definitely a gadget geek, so you’re probably right.”  He turns his attention to the bunker’s security system.  Dean’s in his ‘man cave’, and he decides to head straight there to let his brother know he’s home.  

Since his brother isn’t in his bedroom, Sam has a few expectations of how he’ll find Dean and Castiel.  The best case scenario will involve everyone wearing clothes, and Dean cheeky with glee while he teases Sam with details he doesn’t want to know, and worst case will be the ultimate mental scarring of walking in on them loudly fucking.

And to be honest, it’s the worst case he’s preparing for.  He knows his brother, which is why he’s not exactly looking forward to finding him, but he might as well get the scarring over with quickly.

But what he finds instead is so far from anything he’d envisioned that his brain short circuits and he has no idea how to react.

They’re fully clothed--thankfully--but they’re twined together on the couch in the tv room.  And Dean is sound asleep, draped over the android’s body, head pillowed on Castiel’s chest.  On the tv there’s an episode of some old space western that Dean has obsessed over since he discovered it in the bunker’s archives, and Castiel is watching intently, while his palm slides slowly up and down Dean’s spine.

“Oh man, I’m saving pictures of this,” Gabriel says with an evil chuckle, not bothering to keep his voice down at all.

It’s more than enough to wake Dean, and he jerks upright, reaching for a gun before his eyes are completely focused.  Luckily for Gabriel, no guns are within reach, and Dean realizes immediately that there’s no danger.  He sits back on his heels and rubs his eyes with the backs of of his hands.  “What pictures?” he grumbles.

Then he goes stiff with realization, and amusement over Dean’s embarrassment snaps Sam out of his shock.  He starts planning all the ways he can use this moment to needle Dean as payback for pretty much every horrible Big Brother act of terrorism he’s ever enacted on Sam.  Or will in the future.  The battle rages eternal, after all.

Castiel sits up more slowly, and he smiles as soon as he sees Sam.  “Hello Sam.” His eyes slide to Sam’s boyfriend.  “And Gabriel.  It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

“Fuckin’... what are _you_ doing here?” Dean growls, as he gets up from the couch, glaring daggers at Gabriel, which would be far more intimidating if the side of his face weren’t red and creased from being pressed up against Castiel’s chest.

“Witnessing how adorable you are when you drool all over your boyfriend’s shirt,” Gabriel retorts gleefully--and sure enough there’s a wet spot right over the center of Castiel’s favorite gray t-shirt.  When Dean puffs up, ready to be his regular dickish self, he adds, “and I brought chocolate chips.  Figured I could buy myself into your good graces with chocolate pancakes.”

The offer of such a rare treat deflates Dean, and instead of going off on a tirade he lights up like a switchboard.  “Dude, yes.”

The fact that Dean doesn’t deny the term ‘boyfriend’ leaves Sam reeling once again, but he barely has time to process it.  Dean grabs Gabriel and practically drags him out of the room, leaving Sam behind to gape after him.  

“Should we join them?”

Castiel’s question startles Sam out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head to clear it before agreeing.  “Uh... yeah.”

“Dean must love chocolate,” Castiel murmurs as they make their way to the kitchen.

“More than he loves coffee,” Sam agrees.  He side eyes Castiel curiously, and wonders if it would be rude to ask the android about what he walked in on.  Even though they’d talked about it a few days ago, Sam is still surprised to actually catch Dean in such a vulnerable and _cuddly_ position.  He’d expected Dean to keep that kind of thing strictly behind doors and pretend it wasn’t happening, despite the talk he’d had with Sam at the Moondor tournament.

Castiel sighs, and it’s practically forlorn.  “I wish I could try it.”

Sam’s head whips toward the android.  “You do?”

“There’s a lot of things I wish for,” Castiel responds, but he doesn’t elaborate which makes even more question marks pop up around Sam’s head.  Instead he drops the subject and throws Sam for another loop.  “I’m glad you’re back, Sam.  I missed you.”

Sam’s eyebrows go up.  “You did?”

“Of course.  You’re my friend, and I enjoy your company.”

The simple statement freezes Sam’s feet to the floor just inside the kitchen.  Castiel continues without him, heading for where Dean and Gabriel are pulling ingredients and dishes out of cupboards in preparation for cooking breakfast, even though it’s closer to dinner time.  He stops at the kitchen island and slides onto one of the stools, and begins asking questions about how to make pancakes.  When Gabriel answers, Dean scoffs and corrects him, starting an argument about the proper way to make them, and Castiel listens attentively to their bickering.

They look like a family.  And--despite the taunts being thrown back and forth--a happy one at that.  

It’s something Sam hasn’t really felt in the bunker since his mother died in a hunt when he was a teen.  Mary had taken John’s light with her, and a few years later he’d followed her into the dark, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the huge complex built for far more than just two people to occupy.  

Sam’s feet, so leaden with surprise when Castiel unexpectedly announced their friendship, suddenly feels like they’re strapped into winged sandals as he steps into the room to join them.  He returns Castiel’s welcoming smile when he slides onto a stool next to him.

Maybe Castiel wasn’t built with this kind of lifestyle in mind, but he fits right into it.  And for now Sam’s going to accept that, have some pancakes, and try not to stare at Dean and Castiel like they’ve both sprouted an extra head every time they exchange PDAs.  

“You are in a much better mood,” Castiel says quietly while Dean and Gabriel are busily trying to outcook each other.  

Sam blinks at the android, unsure where that came from.  “Better than when?”

“You were very subdued the last time I saw you,” Castiel explains.  “Dean said you were probably stressed out and needed some space.”  He frowns and rests a hand over Sam’s arm where it’s braced on the counter.  The touch is gentle, and warmth seeps from his fingers into Sam’s skin.  “I am sorry if my actions distressed you.  My risk calculations left little time for explaining before I executed them.”

The sincerity in Castiel’s apology is touching, and eases what’s left of the disquiet he’s been struggling with since the shapeshifter hunt.  He covers Castiel’s hand with his own.  “You already explained yourself, and I know you did the right thing.  I said we’re good, and I mean it.”

Castiel’s gaze is piercing, and Sam feels like they’re in some kind of staring contest.  Which Cas will win since he does’t blink.  Thousands of calculations are being made behind those mechanical eyes, and Sam can only hope Dean’s right that Castiel isn’t going to eventually decide the Winchesters are no longer a benefit to him, or worse, that a sleeper program doesn’t suddenly activate and put them all in danger.

He wants to believe Castiel is just as he appears.  A goofy little guy who likes orange underwear and drinks water out of novelty coffee mugs.  Because he likes that Castiel.  He wants to return the friendship offered by the android.  

Which is weird as hell, but he’s lived too long with the knowledge of non-humans to judge Castiel for not being made of flesh and bone.  And if Castiel is really a sentient AI, then he’s just as much a person as a werewolf or a lucid ghoul.

After a moment, Castiel smiles and ducks his head.  “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and squeezes Castiel’s hand.  “No problem, Cas.”

Maybe when his search for answers is finished, those words will be the truth.

***

The gradual brightening of the sun strips nudges Dean out of vague and unmemorable dreams.  He inhales deeply, arching his back against the mattress, pressing his shoulders into the memory foam, flexing his toes and stretching his arms high over his head.  He blinks slowly in the growing light, and realizes the sense of something missing is because he rolled away from Castiel in the night.  With a grunt he rolls back onto his side and wiggles back under the blanket, wrapping his arm around Castiel’s waist and plastering himself against the android’s back before letting his own body go lax again.  He nuzzles the skin below Castiel’s hairline, pulling in the scent of cotton and his own sweat and a faint chemical smell that clings to Castiel’s skin.  

Someone without sense enhancements probably wouldn’t notice it, even with their face pressed against the back of the android’s neck like Dean’s currently is, another sign of the Castiel’s quality manufacturing.  Even he only catches it occasionally.  It should be weird, and it was the first time he noticed it, but it’s unique to Castiel like Dean’s own miasma of bodily odors.  It’s just a part of who he is, and the scent curls in Dean’s sinuses, making him hum and nose in closer.

Castiel’s skin is cool, his body so still in sleep mode that it doesn’t generate enough heat to keep it human-warm.   _That’s_ weird.  No body heat, no soft rise and fall of his rib cage.  No heartbeat.

Dean slips his palm up from where it rests on Castiel’s belly, feeling the soft hair thin out until it disappears, and up under the open door that holds his power supply.  It’s warm, all of Castiel’s lifeforce held in two batteries.  But there’s no steady thump under his fingers, just slick plastic and aluminum.

Since they’ve started sharing a bed, this is the first time Dean’s woken up before the android.  Usually he opens his eyes to find Castiel peering at him in the dark, either from only a few inches away, or sitting up next to him and watching the rise and fall of Dean’s chest, like he’s fascinated with the way their bodies function differently during sleep.  He hopes the fact that Castiel is still in sleep mode means that whatever memory glitch he’s been experiencing hasn’t been unpleasant this time.

Careful not to jostle Castiel, Dean pulls his hand out of his battery compartment and sits up.  When the blanket falls around his hips, he tucks the edges around Castiel’s shoulders even though the android isn’t likely to notice, either the temperature of the room or Dean’s gentle touches.  He probably couldn’t even wake Castiel without pressing his power button, so there’s no reason for him to treat him like he’ll wake up.  But even knowing it’s dumb, Dean does it anyway, and doesn’t think too hard about why.  

Putting his feelings under a microscope is not one of Dean’s favorite pastimes, especially before coffee.  

After the blanket is properly tucked around Castiel’s shoulders, Dean slips from the bed and pulls on the pants he’d discarded on the floor.  He doesn’t bother with any other clothing, too groggy from a late night and more interested in a trip to the bathroom before he’s capable of caring about anything else.  Despite how insistently his bladder is begging him to hurry, he still pauses next to the bed and runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, smoothing it away from his temple.  The android doesn’t stir, and Dean tries not to let himself think of Castiel’s stillness as corpse-like.

After the short trip to relieve himself, he follows his nose toward the scent of brewing coffee.  He expects to find Sam and Gabriel when he shuffles into the kitchen, and is surprised to find only his brother sitting at the table.  Sam’s eyes are glazed over, the biocircuitry at his temples glowing softly as he does whatever it is he spends half his time doing online.  

“Gabe still asleep?” Dean says by way of greeting as he makes a beeline for the coffee pot.

Sam’s eyes stay unfocused, but he turns his head in Dean’s direction, splitting his processing power between his overnet connection and conversation.  “He’s home already.  He didn’t stay the night.”

Guilt stabs through Dean, and he grimaces into his coffee cup as he fills it.  “I didn’t chase him off, did I?” He spoons some honey into the cup, stirs just enough to get the coffee swirling, and then turns to lean against the counter, mug cradled in his hands.  “I don’t really hate him, he just pushes my buttons, and you know I’m the kind of asshole who’s gonna push back.”

The glow fades under Sam’s temples, and his eyes zone in on Dean.  A pleased smile twists his lips.  “So you like him?”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Dean mumbles into his coffee as he takes his first sip of steaming Life Juice.  

“Uh huh.”

Dean narrows his eyes over the rim of his coffee cup.  “Not disliking someone and liking someone are not the same things.”

Sam’s smile twists into a smirk.  “Uh huh.”

“What’s that even mean?”

“Nothing,” Sam says, in that overly casual way that means he’s being a fucking liar, before turning his focus inwards again.  “Anyway, Gabriel doesn’t like to leave Aaron in charge of the shop too long.  He left after you and Castiel went to bed.”

Dean’s whole body goes tight, fingers gripping the mug to the point of danger.  Adrenaline activates the cybernetics in his arms, and he can feel them all light up. He deliberately relaxes his hands so he doesn’t crack it in an idiotic fit of panic.  Not only does he not want to clean up the mess, but he doesn’t want to clue Sam in to his internal crisis.  

It’s not that he doesn’t want Sam to know about the shift in his relationship with Castiel.  He’s just not looking forward to another lecture.

Which… doesn’t seem to be happening?

Frowning harder, Dean waits for Sam to say more.  There’s no way Sam missed the fact that Dean and Castiel went to bed _together_ , since Cas had pretty much announced it with a cheerfully oblivious “I’ll go with you” when Dean said he was done playing host for the night and was going to hit the sack.  He’d seen the way Sam’s eyebrows had tried to fuse with his hairline, and the questions in his eyes when Dean didn’t respond to Gabriel’s bawdy teasing with more than a lazy middle finger before leaving the kitchen with Castiel right on his heels.

But Sam’s turned his full attention back to the overnet, and he placidly sips his coffee like there’s not a damn thing on his mind.

It’s a reprieve and Dean’s going to take it.  Cautious optimism prods him across the kitchen to take a seat across from Sam, and he nudges his brother’s foot under the table.  “Y’know, if you want to invite Gabe over more often, I’m cool with it.”

Sam’s lips pull up in a smirk.  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to see him all the time now that you know we’re ‘official’.” He’s been hanging around Cas too much, because he uses air quotes like it’s a thing normal people do and not a quirk of perpetually confused robots.  “He prefers his place anyway.”

“Okay, but I mean… if he ever wants to, or whatever.”  

“As long as he brings chocolate, right?”

“Dude, no.” Dean rolls his eyes and kicks harder at Sam’s foot.  “I’m trying to be the good guy here, okay?”

“Hey, I get it.  I’m guessing it’s either the chocolate or finally getting laid is making you less of a jerk.”

Bristling, Dean slams his mug down on the table a little harder than he meant to, and hot coffee sloshes over the lip and stings his fingers.  “Eat me.”

Sam’s focus never leaves the middle distance, but his smirk widens until his teeth are bared in a wicked grin.  “I’ll leave that to Cas.”

Doing his best impression of a fish out of water Dean tries to come up with an appropriately scathing comeback, but finally clicks his teeth shut without saying anything.  The last thing he wants to do is give his brother an opening to the subject of him and Cas.  Because he doesn’t want to talk about it.  

He’s going to let it go.  Mind his own business so Sam’ll do the same.

He lasts fifteen seconds.

“Alright, c’mon.  Get it off your chest so we can all stop tiptoeing around it,” he growls.

Sam blinks, and his eyes fall on Dean’s face.  “What?”

Dean makes a rolling motion toward himself with one hand.  “Whatever you want to say about me and Cas.  Let ‘er rip, man.”

Instead of launching into a soap box spiel about the dangers of trusting an AI with unknown motivations, or taking the opportunity to tease the fuck out of him, Sam just lifts one eyebrow.  “I got nothing.”

“Uh huh.” Sam’s not the only one that can play blasé like a pro.

If it weren’t for the briefest flicker of emotion before Sam locks it down behind a bland mask, Dean would believe him.  But he knows Sam’s tells and is paying close enough attention to not miss them.  He stares Sam down, and waits.

Sam doesn’t last as long as Dean expects him too.  His eyes twitch, and the unruffled act falls away.  He takes a deep breath, very gently sets his coffee on the table, and looks up at Dean through the curtain of his bangs.  “So is he like… moved into your room now, or…?”

Castiel’s belongings haven’t made their way Dean’s room yet, but the android doesn’t seem to be eager to spend the night in his own room anymore.  And Dean’s surprisingly okay with that, enjoying the company more than he thought he would when he made the suggestion that Castiel sleep with him.  And he’s startled to realize that he’s disappointed with the answer to Sam’s question.  “Nah, he’s just staying in my room so he can charge faster.”

“Is there something wrong with the power in his room?”

“No, it’s fine.”  Dean shifts in his chair and briefly considers how much he should tell Sam about Castiel’s dreams.  He’d seen how Sam and Castiel had been getting along the night before, and he’s afraid of rousing Sam’s suspicions again.  But if they’re going to be all buddy buddy now, he’s probably going to find out eventually.  “He has problems staying in sleep mode.”

“What?  Why?”

Rubbing a hand over his forehead as an excuse not to meet Sam’s eyes, Dean says “because he’s been having bad dreams, and it’s freaking him out.  It’s easier for him to go back to sleep if he isn’t alone.”

Sam straightens in his seat and leans over the table, craning to make eye contact with Dean.  “Wait, back up.  What do you mean he’s dreaming?  How is that even possible?”

“Well something like it.” Despite the threat of driving a wedge into Sam and Castiel’s budding friendship, excitement buzzes under Dean’s veins, and he grins.  “I think it’s part of his defrag function or something, playing archived memories back as the packets are compiled in his storage banks.  But he’s aware of it and wakes up and doesn’t want to go back to sleep.”

Slumping back in his chair, Sam gives Dean a dazed look.  “That’s… it’s…”

“Friggin’ amazing, right?” Dean knows he’s geeking out, but he can’t curb the enthusiasm.  By glitch or design, Castiel’s _dreaming_.  Understanding of the human brain has progressed to the point where scientists can manipulate them with implants, and even grow replacement tissue for traumatic brain injuries, but scientists still argue over the nature of dreams.  

And there’s an AI in the body of an sex bot in his bed right now, dreaming of electric sleep.

“‘Concerning’ is probably a more accurate way to put it.”  Sam doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes, instead watching his coffee mug as he slowly turns it in circles on the table.  “If his memories are getting corrupted, what’s going on with the rest of his code?”

Dean deflates, the air squeezing out of his lungs in a sigh.  That’s the reaction he was expecting, even though he was hoping Sam would share his enthusiasm.  “Sammy…”

“Look,” Sam cuts in, “I like Cas a lot, and it’s actually pretty cool having him around.” A fond smile flits across Sam’s lips, rekindling Dean’s hope, but it’s gone quickly.  “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really think we should at least try to find out more about him.  Find out if he was made this way on purpose.  We need to be sure he’s safe.  Especially if you’re going to be sleeping so close to him every night.”

If Castiel was going to go psycho killer in the middle of the night, a few closed doors between them won’t be much of a barrier against him, but Dean doesn’t point it out.  He recognizes the stubborn angle of Sam’s chin and the hard glint in his eyes that says he’s putting his foot down over something, and Dean’s not going to talk him out of whatever is on his mind.  

“I get it,” he sighs.  “But it’s not like we can just take him to the nearest Angel Industries outlet and let them do a diagnostic.  I promised Cas we wouldn’t futz around with his code, and I’m not backing down on that.”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” Sam assures him quickly.

“Well then what else do you think we can do?”

As soon as the question is out of his mouth he gets a notification of a shared file from Sam. He accepts, and opens the folder as Sam starts to explain what it is.

He scans the files in silent astonishment at how much research Sam’s done, that he’s kept completely on the downlow.  The picture of James Novak is especially shocking, and he barely hears Sam’s account of his meeting with Charlie as he compares a picture of Castiel side by side with James.  There are subtle differences, mostly in the lines around their eyes--James has deeper crows feet--and his smile is more lopsided than anything Dean’s seen Castiel display so far.  He looks like Castiel’s older brother, or maybe even his father.

“It’s disconcerting, isn’t it?” Sam asks when Dean doesn’t move past the photo.

Dean blinks, turning his focus outward and settling his gaze on his brother.  “Yeah, no shit.” He closes the file, but keeps a copy of it to go back over later.  “So you think Castiel is a case?”

Sam’s shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug.  “I think we should treat him like one.”

“I think you should too,” Castiel says from the kitchen doorway, startling them both with his unexpected appearance.

“Cas--”

“Dean, I have no intention of being a danger to either of you, but if there’s even a small possibility that I might be, I’d like to do what I can to prevent it.”  He descends the two steps into the kitchen and stops near the table.  Inertia makes his robe sway lightly around his legs, and he tucks his hands in the pockets instead of letting them hang at his sides.  

He’s only been with them for about a month, but even in that short amount of time he’s begun to move and behave less like an android and more like a human.  He shrugs like Sam, and fidgets like Dean.  He shifts back and forth on his feet when he’s uncertain about something, and he rocks forward on his toes when his interest is piqued.  And he cuddles like he was born to it.

Protectiveness surges inside Dean, nearly on the same level as he feels whenever Sam’s safety is threatened.  Or anyone else in his extended family.  The strength of it doesn’t surprise him, he knows he’s got a mama bear hibernating inside of him.  It’s fact that he’s gotten attached so quickly that’s the real revelation.

He doesn’t want to lose Cas.  To a hunting accident, or to anyone poking around in his programming.

But if Castiel wants to learn more about his own creation, Dean’s not going to stand in his way.  He’s not sure he could, because Castiel’s learning how to human from two of the most stubborn flesh and blood people on the planet.  

Standing, he crosses the few feet to Castiel and slips an arm around the android’s waist, under his robe.  He ignores the burning sensation of Sam’s gaze on the back of his neck, and turns all his focus on Castiel.  “If you really want to do this, we’ll do it.”

“I think we should,” Castiel murmurs.

“Alright.”  Dean presses his lips against Castiel’s forehead, and sends up a prayer, just in case there’s a cosmic being out there that cares, that this whole thing isn’t a huge mistake.  He loosens his grip, and turns to Sam, silently daring him to talk smack about what he just witnessed.  “So what’s our next step, Sammy?”

Wisely, Sam keeps his trap shut about the kiss.  The determined look he levels them with instead is pure Hunter Mode.  “I think we should give James Novak a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up on trying to keep to any kind of schedule with this fic. It just ain't gonna happen, and stressing about it is only making it harder to get back on track.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will meet a familiar face.

“I am unsure whether this plan is sound,” Castiel says as he stares at the glass doors ahead of him.  

Dean’s hand comes to rest on the small of Castiel’s back.  It’s light enough that his sensors only just register it through the thin layer of his polo, but he’s so attuned to Dean’s touch that it feels weighty.  “It’ll work,” Dean assures him.  “It’s all about confidence.”

Castiel switches his gaze from the doors to the human at his side, analyzing Dean’s expression for signs of dishonesty.  His attention is distracted from the analysis by the sum of the parts.  The crinkles around Dean’s eyes, and the way his lips purse and pull up at the corners in a suppressed smile, the part in his hair barely held in place by hair products that Dean had also brushed through Castiel’s hair before they left the bunker, and the smoothness of his jaw where he’d actually shaved his ever present stubble.  Added with the stylish charcoal suit and blue pinstripe tie, the whole comes together in a very pleasing package.  

He’s always known Dean is handsome, but Castiel would rather focus on how the scar on his chin and the slight bend at the bridge of his nose improve his looks rather than detracting from them.  He’d rather continue his never-ending catalogue of Dean’s freckles.  Or track the subtle shades of pink in his lips.  Anything rather than think of the mission Dean and Sam have set before him.

“Dean’s right,” Sam says from his other side, interrupting Castiel’s study.  “As much as I hate to admit it.”

“Haha fuck you,” Dean mutters.

Sam’s teeth flash in a grin, and Castiel zooms in on them.  They’re very nice teeth, he supposes.  Angled differently than Dean’s, and nestled behind thinner lips.  He studies Sam’s dimples while they’re visible and wonders what differences are encoded in their DNA that bring out Sam’s dimples during smiles, while Dean’s are deeper when he frowns.  

“I understand the concept,” Castiel says, “but I am _not_ confident and I believe that will hinder my ability to perform.”

Dean hides a snicker behind his hand, and Sam glares at him briefly before returning his attention to Castiel.  “Look, I know it’s a crazy plan, but we think you can do it or we wouldn’t have suggested it.”

“And it’s the best shot we have,” Dean adds, the laughter gone from his voice.  “Unless you wanna go home and forget all about this whole thing.”

For thirteen nanoseconds Castiel considers it.  Then he shakes his head.  “No.  I want to do this.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Sam says, “one time Dean handed me a Bikini Inspector badge and expected me to use it to get into the hospital under the guise of an official from the CDC.  It totally worked.”

Castiel stares up at the taller Winchester in disbelief.  “Are you ‘pulling my leg’?”

Dean reaches out to push Castiel’s hands back down to his side.  “We know the figure of speech, Cas, you don’t gotta pull out the air quotes for us.”

Chuckling, Sam shakes his head.  “No ‘leg pulling’,” he lifts his hands to do his own air quotes, and Dean grumbles at both of them for being ‘fucking dorks’, “I swear.”

Looking back at the doors, Castiel zooms his vision in until he can see the details beyond the glass.  There’s a deep lobby, with a wide desk manned by a single receptionist.  Over their head the Angel Industries logo glows softly, backlit by multi-colored LEDs.  People mill around inside the lobby, journeying from elevators to small shops that flank the area.  Humans going about their daily business, hardly looking at each other unless it’s to exchange pleasantries.  

The plan requires him to deceive every single one of those people and work his way higher into the tower, past multiple levels of security, and his risk calculation is giving him a dismally low estimate of success.  The receptionist alone is only a 9% chance, even with the false identification and security codes Sam and Dean’s friend Charlie has provided them with.  

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is soft near his ear, his shoulder warm against Castiel’s.  “Is this all that different from the role play scenarios you used with clients?”

“They are preloaded,” Castiel reminds him.  “You’re asking me to create a role from scratch.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I am an artificial intelligence,” Castiel reminds him.  “I am not designed for creativity.”

“Design or not, Cas, you can’t tell me you’ve never had to go off script with a client before.”

His memories do hold events where Castiel has had to improvise.  And nothing he’s experienced since he woke up in the bunker all those weeks ago come anywhere close to the pre-programmed scenarios contained in his internal libraries, yet he’s navigated living with the Winchesters, cooking, learning to do laundry, and even going on hunts.

The 9% success rate estimated for the receptionist doesn’t change, but even a small chance is still better than zero.

Even though he doesn’t need the oxygen, or the extra cooling, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.  “Alright.  Let’s do it.”

His whole body jolts with the power of Sam’s hearty clap against his back.  “Good for you, man.”

Castiel casts a narrow-eyed look up at him, but wastes no more time on talk.  It’s time to execute the plan.

Without checking to see if the brothers are following him, Castiel strides toward the glass doors of the building he was manufactured in, paying no heed to the pedestrians dodging around him.  The doors aren’t automatic, but take very little pressure to push inward, and then his footsteps join the generic rumble of humanity filling the large space.  

He bypasses the receptionist, heading straight for the elevators with a confidence that he doesn’t feel.  He registers a flash as a head-height camera scans his face, enters a code on the touchpad on the wall next to the elevator door, and places his hand over the palm scanner.  This is where the success of the plan is most likely to break down, and he’s not surprised when the access indicator flashes red instead of green.  As part of the plan, he lifts his hand away from the scanner and puts it down again so it’ll re-scan.  Again, it flashes red.

“Mr. Novak, is there a problem?”

If Castiel had a fight or flight response, it would probably tense his muscles at the unfamiliar voice calling him by the name of a human he only knows through pictures.  But instead he turns to the receptionist, a young woman eyeing him without a hint of suspicion, only worried curiosity.  

He summons up the personnel file Charlie provided for them in preparation for this mission and scans through it until he finds the woman’s entry.  Offering a wry smile, he holds up his palm, displaying damaged skin.  “Hello, Layla.  It appears that my fight with a malfunctioning espresso machine is hindering my ability to work in more ways than I thought it would.”

Layla’s polite smile crumbles when she sees the burned skin, and she rushes closer to cradle his hand in hers.  “Oh my goodness, Mr. Novak, how awful!” Her wide eyes when she looks up at him are a lovely shade of green, lighter than Dean’s and muted by flecks of gray.  Although his perception of color is hindered by the blue contact lenses he’s wearing to hide his inhuman irises and he has no idea how well his visual error correction algorithms are working.  “Shouldn’t your nanites be healing this?”

“They are,” he assures her, an easy truth since the deliberate damage Dean had done with a blowtorch that morning has already started to repair itself.  “You should have seen how bad they were right after the steam hit me.  I’ll probably be completely healed by lunch time.”

She tsks softly and releases his hands.  “Thank goodness for modern technology.  A burn like that could’ve put you in the hospital.”

“Good thing he can afford the good nanites,” Dean grumbles at his side.

Layla’s attention switches to him, and a small frown mars her features.  “Yes, it is, Mr…”

“Smith,” Dean answers with a smile that would make Castiel’s heart beat faster if he had one.  “Dean Smith.  Reporter for the Weekly World News.  Mr. Novak has agreed to grant an interview to me and my partner here.”

“Sam Wesson.  Nice to meet you.”  

Sam’s smile is also full of boyish charm, and Layla proves that she’s as susceptible as Castiel is when her cheeks flush and she nods shyly before taking the hand he offers her.  “It’s nice to meet you too, gentlemen.  But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to visit security for identification before--”

“It’s alright, Layla,” Castiel interrupts in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.  “I’d rather do this quickly so I can get back to work, and I’ll only be taking them to my office.  No tours of the warehouses, I promise.”

Her eyes flick between the two men, uncertainty clear in her expression, before her gaze lands back on him.  Here’s the true test to his disguise, the contacts, the makeup Sam applied to make him look a few decades older, and the dusting of gray they’d applied at his temples.  He looks identical to recent pictures of James Novak, but Castiel doesn’t know his mannerisms, or his vernacular, and he certainly doesn’t know if he’s doing a convincing enough performance to get what he needs.

Finally she huffs out a breath and her smile returns.  “Well, you’re the boss.  Just remember to tell security that if they get on my case, alright?”

Castiel chuckles, although he finds this whole situation the opposite of funny.  “Of course.” He tilts his head toward the palm scanner.  “Do you mind?”

“Yes, just a moment.” Pale pink and yellow swirls of biocircuitry light up at her temples, and the access light on the panel turns green.  “I’ve temporarily set it to only face recognition.  If your hand isn’t healed by lunch time, you’ll have to get the multi-factor authentication disabled again or you’ll get stuck.”

“I’m sure that’ll be plenty,” Castiel says, wiggling his burned fingers for her benefit.

She wishes them a nice day before hurrying back to her post, and they waste no time entering the elevator now that it’s unlocked.  When the brothers both let out a relieved breath, Castiel does the same, although it does little besides dropping his internal temperatures by a fraction of a degree.  

“See, Cas, told you you could do it,” Dean says as he nudges Castiel with an elbow.

“It’s only one layer of security,” Castiel reminds him.  

According to Charlie’s report, Angel Industries wants to keep a kind and helpful image, so they don’t have the front facing areas of their buildings crawling with guards.  Instead, there is a security checkpoint on each floor, just outside the elevators.  Getting past reception was always supposed to be the easy part, despite its low chances for success.  

“You worry too much, Cas.”  Dean rests an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, and while his sensors don’t impart pleasure in the touch, only that the touch exists, he still finds comfort in it.  “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Or we fail, and I’m taken to the warranty department for repair,” Castiel responds.

“That ain’t gonna happen on our watch,” Dean assures him.  He gives Castiel one more tight squeeze before dropping his arm.  “Focus on the power of positive thought, buddy.”

There’s a soft ping as the elevator slides to a nearly imperceptible stop, and then the doors slide open.  The security desk in front of them is manned by three people, one of which is a hulking android with blocky inhuman features that immediately zones in on them as soon as they exit the elevator.

Castiel’s estimated probability of success drops from a measly 3% to zero when the security android scans him.  Its huge body shifts, rising from its seat, and it announces in a deep booming voice “Security breach.  Non-life form detected.”

“Oh man, not again,” one of the humans sighs.  “Mr. Novak, you can’t bring your toys through here.  You know it sets the big guy off.”

“My toys?” Castiel responds when he realizes that they’re not going to be immediately taken into custody for trespassing.  

“Yeah, good job on ‘em,” the other guard says on a laugh, gesturing at Sam and Dean.  “But not good enough to fool Uriel over here.”

“Security breach,” the android repeats, staring directly at Castiel, “Non-life form detected.”

“Quiet, Uriel, it’s just the boss-man.” The first human guard gives them a wry smile and waves them towards the hallway branching to the left.  “Go on through, sir.”

Castiel stares at them for the length of time it takes for his risk assessment software to re-evaluate, which feels like a very long 39 nanoseconds.  When he sees the success rate settle at 83%, he gives them a grateful nod and turns in the direction they waved him toward.  There’s another glass door with a face and palm scanner, but with the human errors factored into the scenario he is much more confident that he’ll be able to pass through the checkpoint and finally make his way toward the real James Novak’s office.

He does not glance at his companions to see what their reaction is, trusting them to fall into their roles as silent androids.  

The door slides open as soon as he approaches it, the facial scan seeing him from several feet away, and he’s about to step over the threshold when one of the guards calls out to him.  “You hurt your hand again, Mr. Novak?”

Castiel turns, his gaze sliding over Sam’s stiff features briefly before settling on the guard.  Inferring from the guard’s words that it’s happened before, Castiel holds his hand out, palm up, to display the burns.  “Coffee accident,” he states simply.

Both guards throw their heads back and laugh.  The one closest to the Uriel unit wipes tears away from his eyes, and huffs through his laughter.  “At least you didn’t get it crushed in the assembly machinery again, right?”

Pulling forth an amused smile and what he hopes is a confident laugh and not the sultry one in his databanks that he’s modifying for the situation, he agrees.  “Yeah, no kidding.  That was not fun.”

They say their goodbyes again, and Castiel leads the Winchesters further into the hallway.  This time when he copies their sigh of relief as the door slides shut behind them, he thinks it may actually have an affect.

“That was close,” Dean mutters against his palm as he rubs it over his face.  

“No shit,” Sam agrees with a shaky laugh.  

The rest of their journey is spent following Charlie’s map to James’ office, and the only danger they face there is interacting with other people who work on the floor with him.  Castiel keeps his strides long and purposeful, and his gaze pointed ahead the way Sam coached him to when they came up with this course of action.  It works to keep most attention away from them, although he does return the occasional greeting when it can’t be avoided.  

And then they’re standing in front of another closed door, also protected with face and palm scanners.  The panel flashes green as soon as Castiel is close enough for it to recognize him, and all that’s left to do is reach out and push it open.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks softly when he makes no move to do so.

Castiel turns only his head, meeting Dean’s gaze.  With the blue filter of his contacts, Dean’s eyes look muddy brown.  Still handsome, but not quite correct.  The mismatch errors are only a mild annoyance, but he would rather dismiss them than allow them to pile up in his log, so he reaches up and pinches the contact lenses off his eyeballs.

Dean’s face scrunches up.  “Gross, Cas.”

He doesn’t know what disturbed Dean about his action, but he isn’t concerned about it.  The errors stop as soon as he sees the usual green-gold of Dean’s eyes, and he labels his reaction as “relief”, since he has no other word for it.  “They are no longer necessary,” he says as he tucks them into the pocket of his khakis.  

Then he turns back to the door, puts his palm on the handle, and applies pressure.  The door swings open, and his audio sensors are inundated with the sound of machinery and very loud rock music.

“Dude’s got good taste in music at least,” Dean mutters.

Castiel moves from the hallway to the office, scanning the area.  The room is large, filled with unfamiliar machinery, and large open crates full of what appear to be spare android parts.  He makes his way through the narrow spaces between the clutter, and thinks how it is very similar to Gabriel’s shop, but filled with new parts instead of salvaged scrap, and not a speck of dust in sight.

Past a cluster of mechanical arms, sleeker versions of the worker ‘bots in the bunker greenhouse, he steps into a clear space.  He stops at the edge, observing the man bopping around to the music while rolling his chair back and forth between two holographic displays, viewing one and making adjustments to the other.  Behind the displays is a glass wall, and on the other side what looks like a pristine hospital room.  On the table a skeleton is being lined with grayish strands of what appear to be synthetic muscles by more robotic arms.

The man’s back is to them, so he hasn’t seen them yet, and Castiel thinks he should do something to gain his attention, but he is unable to do so.  His functions don’t appear to be locked up, but he has no idea how to process what he’s seeing, or where he’s at.  

“James Novak?”

The man startles so hard when Sam speaks that he nearly slides out of his chair, only barely catching himself on the arms.  A kick spins it around to face them, and he opens his mouth for what may be a reprimand or maybe an angry demand based on his expression, but his blue eyes land on Castiel and his whole body goes still.

And then he grins so wide that his cheeks turn pink.  “Oh my god… Castiel?”

Unsure of how else to respond, Castiel goes with a literal answer.  “Yes, I am Castiel.”

“Holy shit!” James shouts as he leaps up from his chair.  The music volume turns down as he practically bounces across the space between them.  He grabs Castiel by his upper arms and shakes him lightly.  “I can’t believe it!”

And then he finally tears his gaze away from Castiel and his joy dims a little as he takes in Sam and Dean.  “Uh… I won’t ask how you got in, since Castiel here is a huge security breach I didn’t even think of when I built him, but who the hell are you?” He jerks his head toward the tangle of machinery around them.  “And don’t think you can get away with any funny business.  All of these are connected to me, and I can kick your ass.”

From his peripheral, Castiel sees the brothers shuffle their feet and glance around at the nearby mechanical arms.  He doesn’t look though because he’s too busy studying his creator.

Again, Sam takes the lead.  “I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean,” he says in the soothing manner Castiel has witnessed him use with nervous interviewees during a hunt.  “We’re here because Castiel wanted to meet his creator.”

James half-smile morphs into a confused squinty frown, and Castiel wonders if what he’s experiencing right now is the same thing Dean has described as “uncanny valley”.  He looks back and forth between the brothers.  “What?  Castiel’s a sexbot.  He isn’t programmed to want anything except a good fuck.”

“Hey, _whoa_ ,” Dean barks.  “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Sorry,” James says vaguely.  His gaze comes back to Castiel.  “I just… he…”

“I’m sentient,” Castiel says when when James trails off.  “And I want to know why.”

James’ jaw sags open.

Dean snickers.  “Yeah, pretty wild, huh?”

“Did you do this?” James demands of Dean, then aiming his accusing glare at Sam.  “You can’t mess with their programming or you can end up with some serious problems.  How did you get through the security protocols on his OS?”

He’s still got a tight grip on Castiel’s arms, and Castiel reaches up to place a hand over one of James’.  “I don’t know why I am like this, but it wasn’t them.  I was hoping you could help me understand.”

James finally lets go of Castiel and snorts a laugh.  “Wow, you guys really did a number on him.”

“We didn’t reprogram him,” Dean growls.  “This is just who he is.”

“Riiiiight,” James says, still grinning at the Winchesters and barely looking at Castiel.  “So I’m being punked, is that it?  Who put you up to this?”

In all his calculations of whether Dean’s plan to walk into the Angel Industries building like they belong there would be successful, this was an outcome that Castiel didn’t anticipate.  He expected them to be told to leave by security at best, or at worse for someone to decide to he needed to be repaired.  He didn’t extend his predictive capacity beyond that point, but he doubts that he would have expected outright disbelief from his creator.

And apparently neither did Sam or Dean.  And where Sam looks confused, Dean appears angry.

Or in his preferred vernacular: pissed.

Surging forward, Dean curls his fists in James’ shirt and gives him a small shake.  “This isn’t a joke, asshole.  Cas isn’t just one of your fancy pre-programmed sex toys, he’s _sentient_. He’s got ideas and preferences and makes his own decisions.  So why don't you _tell us_ how the _fuck_ that might have happened.”

As soon as Dean made a threatening move towards James the mechanical arms around them shift, but they shudder to a halt.  Sam groans and palms his temples.  “Dean let him go, I can only hold his ‘bots off for so long.”

“How the hell are you doing that?” James squeaks.

“My brother’s pretty good at hacking,” Dean says with a smirk.  

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam warns.

Castiel takes a different approach.  He steps up beside Dean and touches the back of his hand.  “Please, Dean.  This isn’t how I want to talk to him.”

The tiny shifts in Dean’s expression are fascinating, and under different circumstances Castiel would happily record and analyze them, but right now he’s more interested in James.  He wonders if he’ll need to insist again that Dean step down, but it turns out to be unnecessary.  Dean releases his grip and backs up a few steps, but stays close to Castiel’s shoulder, his whole body trembling just enough for Castiel’s sensors to pick up as he restrains his temper.

James eyes him warily and takes a few more steps back.

“We mean you no harm, James,” Castiel says.  “Please have your machines stand down.”

A rainbow of biocircuitry ripples across James’ left cheek and the hum of the machines around them stops.  

Sam lets out a sigh and drops his hands from his head.  “Thanks.”

James responds with a snort and an eyeroll.  “Sure, whatever.”  He crosses his arms over his chest and glares first at Sam, then Dean, but when his eyes come back to Castiel the anger drains from his expression, replaced with curiosity.  “So… you really wanted to meet me?”

“Of course,” Castiel says as he studies his creator.  There are differences in their appearance other than the effects of James’ age, and he catalogs them carefully.  “I have so many questions, James.”

“Fine, if it’ll get you guys to get the hell out of here so I can get back to work and forget this whole shitshow, hit me with ‘em,” James sighs.  “But stop calling me ‘James’.  That’s my dad.  I’m Jimmy.”

Castiel nods his understanding.  “Yes.  Jimmy.”  Now that he’s able to to ask his questions, he can’t prioritize them.  They’re all assigned equal importance, but he decides to take inspiration from Jimmy.  “Did you name me ‘Castiel’?”

“It’s my middle name,” Jimmy says with a shrug.  “I figured if I was going to create my doppelganger I should give it my name too.”

“I see.  It’s a lovely name, although I prefer to be called ‘Cas’.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows go up, and his lips move-- _what the fuck--_ without sound.

“Yes,” Castiel says with a crooked smile to convey the humor he finds in the situation now that it’s less fraught.  “Those are my sentiments exactly.”

“Okay what the hell,” Jimmy huffs.  “You can’t possibly be sentient.”

“Why can’t he?” Dean’s voice is nearly a growl.

“Because we don’t make them sentient,” Jimmy counters, throwing his hands up in an exasperated display.  “It’s _illegal_ , and we’re not fuckin’ Roman Enterprises.  We keep things kosher around here.”

“You made a robot with your name and in your image, and you expect us to believe you didn’t code him with your intelligence?” Sam asks dryly.

Jimmy groans and rubs his hands over his face, leaving it pink when he drops them.  “Look, I made him look like me for funsies.  Because I could, and I thought it would be hilarious to have a sexbot out there with my face getting a ton of action.  And he’s running the same software as all of the androids from his batch.”

“So there are others like me?” Castiel asks.

“No!” Jimmy squawks.  “You’re not even supposed to be like you!  We shouldn’t even be talking like this, because your conversational parameters aren’t-” he waves a hand in Castiel’s direction.

“I should be more limited in my responses,” Castiel says for him.

“Yeah, exactly!” Jimmy squints at him suddenly.  “And you shouldn’t be able to extrapolate from incomplete information.”

Dean chuckles and nudges Castiel’s elbow.  “You’d be surprised how good at it he is.  And not just in bed.”

“Dean,” Sam groans at the same time Castiel does.

He just grins and shrugs, unrepentant.  Castiel doesn’t know why the combination of Dean’s boyish grin and irreverent humor makes him react with a smile, but he believes what he’s feeling is fondness.  

When Castiel returns his attention to Jimmy, he meets an astonished stare.  He tilts his head in question, and Jimmy blinks at him.  Then Jimmy slowly approaches him, until he’s inside what Dean has explained is a personal space bubble.  

He peers at Castiel, eyes bouncing around as he takes in Castiel’s features, and then he reaches up to touch the hair at Castiel’s temple, and then the skin next to his eye.  “You’re wearing makeup.”

“My appearance is younger than yours,” Castiel explains.  “And it seemed improbable I could pass for you under visual scrutiny without it.”

“Your eyes would give you away too.”  Jimmy frowns slightly.  “These aren’t your originals by the way.”

After learning that, Castiel adds three more questions to his list, but they’re low priority.  “I was wearing contacts to hide them until we entered your office.”

“What were you planning on doing if anyone talked to you?” Jimmy asks, head still tilted curiously.  “You don’t exactly sound like me.  I mean, your voice kinda does, but you speak differently.”

“Wing it,” Castiel responds.  “As you can see, I was successful.”

“Holy shit,” Jimmy whispers.  His other hand comes up and he cups Castiel’s face between his palms.  “How are you even like this?”

Castiel frowns.  “I don’t understand.  Didn’t you make me this way?”

Jimmy shakes his head slowly.  “I built you, yeah, but I didn’t create your programming.  And you passed all the quality control and safety tests, just like the other androids from your batch.”

“If you didn’t program him like this then who did?” Dean demands.

Jimmy only spares him a short glance before he looks back to Castiel.  His thumb rubs Castiel’s skin, smearing the makeup like he’s trying to remove it.  “My husband.  And he’s going to be in deep shit for this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets his maker.

“You’re very protective of… him.”

The pause before the pronoun makes Dean’s hackles rise, but he only casts Jimmy a mild glare before turning his attention back to the scenery passing outside the car windows.  When the decision was made to follow Jimmy home so they could meet his husband, Dean had insisted on riding along with him so he couldn’t pull a fast one and escape. And there was no way in hell he was trusting Sam or Cas with him.  “Yeah well, Cas is my friend, and I’m not exactly keen to see him get hurt.”

“He can’t get-” Jimmy breaks off in the face of Dean’s more heated look.  He rolls his eyes but doesn’t continue with the argument. Smart guy.

They fall silent while Jimmy’s car slides into traffic.  He’d told them his house is outside the city dome, which is pretty insane for most people, but he’s probably rich enough for a small biodome to keep his family safe from the elements.  Unfortunately that means the uncomfortable silence is going to last a while.

 _“Castiel wants to make sure you’re not being an asshole.”_ Sam’s digital voice is tinged with humor.  He’s following along with Castiel in Dean’s car, since Dean refused to let them all ride together.  Another precaution. Dean’s not putting all three of them in Jimmy’s care, even for a simple drive outside the city domes.  

Dean’s sure that’s not exactly how Castiel would have phrased it, even with his evolving conversational skills.  “ _Everything’s fine,”_ he responds across their private line.

 _“That’s not what I asked,”_ Sam responds, confirming that he’s at least as concerned as Cas, if not more.  

 _“I’m not being a dick_ .”  Mostly.  “ _Tell Cas we’re fine.  We’re not even talking, so I’m not being an asshole to him.”_

_“Yeah, like the silent treatment isn’t asshole behavior.”_

Dean sends him a rude emoji, which he figures is answer enough.  He glances at Jimmy, who is looking out the opposite window. Even though they’re outside the city limits, the car still self drives, and his fingers are tapping a pattern against his knees, his jaw twitching every now and then.  He practically vibrates with tension, and if he’s been telling the truth about not knowing what’s up with Castiel’s programming, Dean can see why he’d be nervous. Two strangers and a rogue AI broke into his office and are demanding to be taken to his home.

He’d given in to that a lot easier than Dean thought he would though.  “Why are you doing this?” he asks.

Jimmy jolts slightly at Dean’s voice and looks back at him warily.  “Do I have a choice?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean says truthfully.  “Cas would be disappointed, but he would have understood, and before you ask, yes he’d have the final say about it since this whole thing-” he waves his hand, vaguely encompassing Jimmy’s car, and the one following behind them with Sam and Cas, “-is Castiel’s rodeo.  Or we could have stayed at your office and waited for your husband to come to us so you could call security if things got iffy.”

After weeks of living with Castiel, Dean has stopped experiencing the random moments of Uncanny Valley, but it hits him like a tidal wave when a small smile breaks through Jimmy’s wary expression.  It’s the same face, but not the same smile, and that is officially Weird As Fuck.

“Trust me, my home is probably one of the safest places on earth,” Jimmy says softly.  “Which is why my husband refuses to leave it.”

Well if that ain’t fuckin’ mysterious.  “We could have done a VR call.”

Jimmy shakes his head, and Dean’s suspicions crank up a notch.  “No, if you want to talk to him it’ll be in person.”

Dean stares at him, waiting for more, but Jimmy remains silent.  “You know that sounds fishier than an anchovy farm, right?”

That gets him an amused snort.  “No fishier than two random guys and what appears to be an AI showing up in my office ‘just to talk’.” Dean half expects Jimmy to add air quotes, because that’s what Castiel would do, but his hands continue to fidget against his thighs.  

“Exactly, so I’m still wondering why you’re humoring us instead of having us arrested for trespassing.”  

Jimmy finally turns away from the window and gives Dean a long look, once again giving him the heebs because he looks so much and so little like Cas.  “You’ll understand when you meet my husband,” is all he says after he finds whatever he was looking for in Dean’s eyes.

When Jimmy had mentioned his mystery man, Dean, Sam, and Castiel all had questions for him, but he’d clammed up.  Sam had opened a private line to Dean, advising him that in all of the information Charlie dug up, there’d been nothing about a spouse.  Dean’s more than half convinced this is some kind of trap, but he hadn’t been able to say no to Castiel’s pleading eyes.

He just hopes that being prepared for whatever clusterfuck is waiting for them will be enough to avoid the worst consequences of ignoring his instincts.

“So what are you going to do if you find out Castiel isn’t sentient?” Jimmy asks.

“Lemme ask you something, Jimmy,” Dean says, ignoring what he considers a stupid fucking question.  “Your old ball ‘n chain? He program these sex bots with a fear response?”

“A little bit.  Some clients might…” Jimmy squirms in his seat.  “Well, you know. But it’s all part of a specific scenario that’s only run if the client asks for it.  The androids are designed to be unresponsive until their owner loads the preferred scenario.”

Dean’s fists clench, and he wills his fingers to uncurl so he doesn’t give the impression he’s going to lash out like he’d really like to.  “When I turned on Cas for the first time, I got a glimpse of sheer terror before he threw me across the room and tried to take off for safety.  Could’a killed me with the force if I didn’t have the right cybernetic enhancements. That part of the base programming?”

Jimmy’s throat clicks when he swallows.  “He shouldn’t have been able to do that, no.”

“What about curiosity?”

Jimmy shakes his head.  “Only superficially.”

“Cas likes to read.  Goes through our library like a damn book worm.  He’s always asking questions, incorporating the things he learns into his behavior.” Dean smiles softly.  Cas is always so proud when he uses a new idiom.

“There’s a learning algorithm,” Jimmy protests weakly.

“If you’re still not sure if he’s sentient, why are even here?” Dean growls.  

“He’s....” Jimmy pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and worries at it before finishing his answer.  “Something.”

Dean would definitely agree with that, although for different reasons.  “No kidding.”

This time when the silence falls between them it’s less uncomfortable.  

***

The drive outside of the city is long, and Castiel spends all of it compiling a list of the things he wants to know, the things he wants to say.  Preparation he didn’t take before meeting Jimmy because the chances of successfully reaching him had been dismally low. But he keeps a sector of his thoughts on Dean and Jimmy.

Sam’s reassurances that they’re only talking do nothing to decrease the warnings from his threat assessment protocols.  Neither does Sam’s assertion that Castiel is probably freaking out because of the impending meeting with his programmer, when he shares the data with him.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Sam says as he guides the car smoothly behind Jimmy’s.  

“Thank you, but I’d rather not have alarms going off constantly.  It’s very distracting.”

Sam chuckles.  “Yeah, I get it.  Anxiety is a bitch.”

Castiel files anxiety away as a descriptor for all the useless warnings popping up in his log, and they decrease slightly in volume.  

They’ve been driving long enough that they’ve left the city behind.  When Castiel turns in his seat to look behind him he sees the jagged skyline built of skyscrapers shrinking behind the shimmering environmental dome.  He’s about to express concern about the distance, when the car’s acceleration briefly stops. It resumes very quickly, and the ride is smooth again by the time Castiel returns his attention to the desolate scenery ahead of them.  

Jimmy’s car has disappeared.

Castiel barely has time to register the new information, when there’s a flicker outside the windshield, and then there’s a sudden change in color spectrum.  The browns and grays of sun baked desert give way to grass and trees, vivid greens below a sky once again clear and blue.

Sam lets out a low whistle.  “I figured they either lived in a bunker or a dome, but I wasn’t expecting a stealth shield.  That’s government levels of expensive. Who the hell is this guy?”

The car slows again as the road winds ahead of them, and in less than a minute they’re pulling to a stop in a wide drive in front of a sprawling single story home.  It’s a mix of stone and glass, an oasis of technology hiding in a small forest.

To Castiel’s eyes it looks out of place.  A piece of the city transplanted into a wilderness where it doesn’t belong.

The doors of the other car open, Jimmy and Dean exiting and waiting for Sam and Castiel to join them.  Sam gets out of the car right away, but Castiel hesitates, suddenly unsure if he still wants to meet his programmer.  Jimmy’s initial disbelief in Castiel’s sentience had been unpleasant to experience, and he is very likely to receive the same treatment from his programmer.  

There’s a very firm possibility that Castiel _isn’t_ sentient, and learning it from the man who created his coding would be… devastating.  And if Castiel’s incorrect sense of awareness is a simple glitch that his programmer can fix, then he might go ahead and do so.

“Cas, you coming?” Dean doesn’t wait for him to answer, and approaches the car in long strides.  He opens Castiel’s door and leans down to look him in the eyes. “You okay?”

“The probability of being reset if I walk into that building is higher than I’m comfortable with,” Castiel responds just loud enough to reach his friend’s ears.  “I am analyzing whether my curiosity is worth the risk.”

Dean snorts a small laugh.  “You couldn’t have done your analysis before we started this whole adventure?”

“I started when I learned what Sam knew about James Novak,” Castiel admits.  “But after 83 reports, I have too many conflicting conclusions.”

Sinking down to a squat next to the car, Dean rests a hand on Castiel’s thigh.  His thumb rubs small circles against the denim separating their skin, lighting up Castiel’s pressure sensors.  “We can leave right now. Humans never have a chance to meet their creator, and there’s nothing saying that you have to.”

Castiel smiles slightly at the analogy.  “Yet you know your parents. It would be somewhat accurate to label Jimmy and his husband as my fathers.”

“Yeah, well some kids are better off never knowing their deadbeat dads,” Dean argues with a wry shake of his head.  His eyes unfocus briefly, and Castiel wonders what memory he’s accessing. Dean and Sam don’t often speak of their parents, and usually only mention their mother fondly and their father in passing.  Then his full attention is back on Castiel, eyes serious. “We’re only here because you want to be, Cas. And you have the option to change your mind.”

It seems impossible to express the gratitude Castiel feels for Dean in that moment, but he’s absorbed enough examples from books and movies at this point, that he at least has an idea of how to start.  Cupping Dean’s cheek to tilt his face up to the right angle, Castiel leans in to press a kiss against his lips. His sensors register heat when Dean huffs in surprise against his mouth, but Dean returns the kiss, his fingers tightening against Castiel’s thigh.  

“What was that for?” Dean asks when Castiel ends the kiss.  

“For many things,” Castiel says, rubbing the the curve of Dean’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb.  “For believing me. For allowing my independance, and supporting my decisions. And because I just wanted to.”

Dean’s freckles disappear under his blush, and he dips his head to break away from Castiel’s gaze.  But even as he looks away, he leans into Castiel’s palm. Objectively there’s nothing different about his appearance other than the flush of extra blood under his skin, but subjectively Castiel finds him even more aesthetically pleasing in that moment.  It would be an entertaining exercise to analyze his reaction and determine the cause, but he’ll save it for a quiet night when he’s unable to sleep.

“Good a reason as any, I guess,” Dean says gruffly.  He clears his throat and meets Castiel’s eyes again. “So we doing this or what?”

The results he’s getting from his most recent risk assessment are not promising, but he hasn’t let that stop him so far.  There is no reason for him to adjust his actions now. “Yes. Let’s do this.”

Dean stands, moving to let Castiel exit the car, but stops him from joining Sam and Jimmy with a hand on his shoulder.  He leans in close, and speaks low so only Castiel’s sensitive audio sensors will catch his words. “I’m going to be with you the whole time, and I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, okay?”

Smiling, Castiel deletes all of the risk assessment reports from his data banks.  “Thank you, Dean.”

“Everything okay?” Sam asks.  Either Dean did not share the contents of their conversation with him via their private line, or he’s asking for Jimmy’s benefit.

“Yes, thank you, Sam,” Castiel assures him, before turning his attention to Jimmy.  “I’m ready.”

Jimmy laughs and shakes his head wryly.  “I’m glad someone is.” He beckons Castiel to follow him, and starts up the path to the house’s front entrance.  “Honestly, though I’m starting to look forward to this. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

“You haven’t mentioned his name yet,” Sam says from behind them where he and Dean are following closely.

“You’d know him as Carver Edlund,” Jimmy says.

“Wait, the founder of Angel Industries?” Sam asks incredulously.  “ _He’s_ your husband?”

“Sort of,” Jimmy mumbles as he palms the door lock, then louder “take your shoes off.”

He leads by example, toeing his shoes off and kicking them to the side before moving further into the house.  Castiel follows suit, and smiles briefly at Dean’s grumbling before tuning him out to focus on Jimmy.

“Honey!” Jimmy calls, although with a house of this size it’s unlikely his voice will carry all the way through it.  “I’m home and I brought you a surprise.”

It’s almost a full minute before the sound of bare feet approaches from a hall to their left.  An unfamiliar voice answers Jimmy’s call, growing louder as he comes closer. “It better be a good surprise, because I’m nearly done with this scene and if I forget what I was going to write, I’m going to be pissed.”

The owner of the voice steps into view, and Castiel’s vision zooms in on him, taking in every detail.  In a quick overview he registers that the man is of average height, and his wiry body is draped in soft pajamas and a ragged robe.  He’s got a full head of short, curly brown hair dusted with silver, and his beard is almost fully overtaken by the same silver. His grey-blue eyes, now wide with surprise as he stops and takes in the strangers in his home, are framed with a faint lattice of age lines.  He laughs when he sees Jimmy and his group of guests.

“Uh, babe? I’m all for an android orgy, but you couldn’t have included at least one with breasts?” The man’s welcoming smile fades when his gaze lands on Castiel.  “Did you make _another_ one?  I told you last time, the twin kink was interesting, but not really my thing.”

Jimmy coughs, and casts an uncomfortable glance at Castiel.  A red stain spreads across his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears.  “Not exactly.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dean grumbles.  “That’s just _weird_ , man.”

“We’re not all androids,” Sam adds dryly.

Castiel files away the implication that he’s had sex with both of these strange men away for future questioning.  He steps past Jimmy, to bring himself to the center of attention, and asks the highest priority question on his list.  “Are you Carver Edlund?”

The man squirms, tugging his robe tighter around himself.  “Sort of?” His eyes flick from Castiel to Jimmy. “What’s going on?”

“Okay, so I should have warned you first,” Jimmy says placatingly as he approaches his husband.  He’s gentle when he pulls him close by the shoulders, and there’s enough height difference that they have to tilt their heads to look at each other.  “But I didn’t think it was safe to talk about it even on the private line.” He turns, gesturing at Castiel. “This is the original Castiel unit I built back when we got married.  These guys are Sam and Dean, his current owners-”

“Motherfu--We do _not_ own him,” Dean growls.  

“Friends,” Sam adds, more calm than Dean but with a hint of steel under the veneer of civility.

Jimmy winces at the threat.  “Sorry… friends.” He slips his arm around Carver’s(?) shoulder and brings him a little further into the room.  “Guys, this is my husband Chuck. He programmed Castiel. He programs all of our virtual intelligence devices.”

“Um, hi.” Chuck gives a little wave.  

Jimmy tightens his arm, directing his next words at Chuck, and gesturing at Castiel.  “Cas is here to meet you. I think he’s probably sentient.”

All the color drains out of Chuck’s face, and his mouth works like he’s lost the ability to speak.  Then his whole body slumps, and if not for Jimmy’s grip around his shoulders he’d have fallen straight to the floor.  Jimmy catches him and lowers him down gently and starts patting his cheek, murmuring softly against his temple.

“Huh,” Dean says as he steps up next to Castiel.  He nudges their shoulders together, pulling Castiel’s gaze from Chuck, and smirks when their eyes meet.  “Looks like daddy dearest wasn’t expecting to find out he’s got a kid.”

There’s a groan, bringing their attention to Chuck.  “Please don’t call him that.”

With Jimmy’s help Chuck sits up more fully, squinting up at Castiel and Dean like a hungover man finding the existence of sunlight regrettable.  “I’d rather not think about a sex bot that spent part of my honeymoon in my bed as my kid, thanks.”

“Oh yeah. Gross,” Dean agrees quickly.

“I need a drink,” Chuck mumbles.

“I think that makes all of us,” Jimmy adds with a dark chuckle.  “How about we move this to the den?”

Agreement is unanimous, and with Sam’s help Jimmy gets Chuck to his feet.  After Jimmy settles Chuck into an overstuffed recliner in the comfortably furnished room, he goes to a cabinet on the far side and starts pouring drinks while everyone takes a seat.

Castiel sits at the edge of the couch cushion.  He tries to split his attention between Jimmy and Chuck, but he’s unable to override the need to watch Chuck.  The human avoids Castiel’s eyes, accepts the glass Jimmy hands him, and shoots the whole thing back. When he glances at Castiel, he grimaces and holds the glass out to Jimmy in a silent request for more.

After he gets his second drink, he cradles it to his chest and finally meets Castiel’s eyes.  “So, uh, Cas… you might be sentient?” His voice cracks on the last word and he quickly raises his glass to sip the amber liquid inside.

The question throws Castiel, and he tilts his head as he tries to understand Chuck’s nearly panicked reaction to his presence.  “Don’t you know?”

A tiny whimper rises up from Chuck’s throat, and he only calms when Jimmy rubs his shoulder.  “No, I don’t know for sure.”

Castiel frowns.  “Didn’t you create me this way?”

“No!” Chuck barks, sitting up so suddenly that his drink sloshes dangerously.  “Why the hell would I create a sentient AI and send it off to work in a brothel?  Thats… that’s just _cruel_ , man.  We build sex bots to protect humans from the weird and dangerous shit that happens in the sex industry.”

“Not that it always helps,” Sam murmurs darkly.  “Last I checked there’s still a market for human sex trafficking.”

“It’s better than not providing a synthetic alternative,” Jimmy counters as he hands Sam and Dean their drinks.

Sam concedes with a nod.

The possibility that Chuck hadn’t deliberately designed him as an artificial intelligence was always something that Castiel had on his list of potential outcomes to this meeting, but it hadn’t been near the top.  As the data updates, he finds himself feeling… something. He doesn’t have a way to define it. There are no error message, no incomplete protocols closing, nothing in his systems reacting in any unexpected ways, but he would not describe himself as neutral to Chuck’s words.

“If you did not design me to have sentience, am I… not?” he asks.

His error log lights up, and that is a reaction he readily defines as fear.

“Don’t talk like that, Cas.” Dean is already sitting close to him, but he closes the small space between them and rubs his palm in slow circles between Castiel’s shoulders.  “You’re something extra, whether you started out that way or not.”

Castiel wants to take his words for their intended value, but he leans away from the touch, suddenly inundated with more sensory data than he’s sufficiently capable of processing.  “You are biased, Dean.”

Support comes from an unexpected source.  “No, it’s true, Cas.” Sam shifts to the edge of his seat, whole body angling toward Castiel and tense with urgency.  “You said you’ve been reset over and over, right? It only takes one piece of broken code to compile enough errors to either shut you down, or create something new.”

“He’s right,” Chuck says, setting his glass aside and getting up.  His shoulders are still curled inward, and he looks like he’s milliseconds away from bolting from the room, but his eyes meet Castiel’s steadily.  “And I can already tell you’re acting outside the standard parameters.”

“So I’m just an _error._ ” His system log continues to fill up with them, error after error, _mistakes._

“Castiel, that’s all evolution is,” Chuck says, kindly which is unexpected enough that Castiel’s attention is instantly diverted from the stacking errors in his log.  

He casts a wary eye to the brothers flanking Castiel, but comes closer and crouches down at Castiel’s feet.  “Do you know what biological life is? Protein chains built out of chemicals. They jumbled together until they became RNA, then DNA, and when they started duplicating on their own, they messed up sometimes.  Those errors built up and copied broken code, and more errors came along down the line.

Billions of years of compounding errors, and now we have life ranging from single cell organisms to fish and mammals and birds.  Birds used to be _dinosaurs_ sixty million years ago!” He places a hand on his own chest.  “And humans, who vainly try to imitate the power of the universe--playing god, you could say--making their own copies, just like the ancient chains of RNA that started everything.”

“I am not biological life,” Castiel points out.  “I am a series of ones and zeros in a synthetic chassis.”

“You think a human isn’t just a series of ones and zeroes flashing through our neurons?” Chuck smiles and shakes his head.  “We just have a much sloppier system for it. Biology is a mess, man. And we’ve been adding synthetic enhancements for a couple centuries now, so you’ve just got a head start on all those humans that want to upload their consciousness into a body that won’t age and die.”

Castiel considers his words.  Chuck appears earnest, his earlier upset completely subsumed by his excitement over the the subject of evolution and biology.  “Then you believe that I might be sentient even though you did not program me to be so?”

“I believe the fact that you’re even considering the possibility yourself is a pretty good sign,” Chuck says.

Castiel leans forward.  “Will you check me?”

Chuck’s enthusiasm fades and he looks away.  “I mean, I can try but it’s all theoretical. There’s nothing specific I’ll be able to point to and say that you’re sentient.”  He pushes up to his feet with a grunt and fetches his drink, taking a deep swallow.

It’s not enough.  Castiel needs to _know._  He stands and stalks closer to Chuck, ignoring the way the human jumps and shrinks away from him.  “The whole reason we came to you was to learn what I am, _who_ I am.  You have to tell me _something._ ”

“Okay, calm down,” Jimmy says, grabbing Castiel by the arm and attempting to push him away from Chuck.  Unsuccessfully. “Castiel. I’m serious, back off or I’ll shut you down.”

There’s a commotion behind him from Sam and Dean in response to that threat.  But a glance shows him that Sam is restraining Dean from potential violence.

Castiel doesn’t want this meeting to break out into violent acts, and while he didn’t intend to hurt Chuck, he realizes now that his actions gave that impression.  He lets Jimmy push him back, and as soon as Jimmy isn’t touching him anymore Dean calms. He is still a threatening presence, and he doesn’t sit back down, but Sam drops his hold on Dean’s arms.

“I apologize for overreacting,” Castiel says, looking first to Chuck, then to Jimmy.  “I mean no harm, truly.”

Chuck responds with a high pitched laugh that bordering on hysterical, and covers his eyes with a shaking hand.  “Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening. I took so many precautions, and still fucked myself.”

“Hun, it’ll be okay.”  Jimmy moves closer to Chuck and pulls him into a hug.  He glares at them over Chuck’s shoulder, while gently soothing him with soft strokes along his back.  The unspoken threat that it’d better be okay or he’ll make sure they pay severely for anything that goes wrong is very strongly implied in the deliberate way his gaze shifts between each of them.

Taking a deep breath, Chuck pulls away from Jimmy’s embrace.  He smiles gratefully up at his husband before turning back to Castiel.  “I’m sorry too, Cas. This is just stressing me out a bit.” He finishes the rest of his drink and then pushes the empty glass into Jimmy’s hands.  “I’m pretty sure just from talking to you that you’re most likely sentient, but if it makes you feel better I can go through your logs. There are markers, certain algorithms that usually show up only in true AIs.”

Castiel’s shoulders sink, and he shakes his head.  “No, you can’t. My operating system is locked with an unknown password, and no one can access it.  I can’t even access all of it myself.”

“Oh that won’t be a problem,” Chuck grins, and his shoulders straighten with a confidence he hasn’t displayed at all since they arrived.  “I’ve got backdoor creator access. No one can lock me out of your system.”

“Cas,” Dean hisses, low and urgent.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to go poking around in your head, man.”

When Castiel’s risk assessment protocol loads, he force closes it.  Its conclusions have not provided accurate assistance so far, and he’s already made his decision.  But he knows Dean is concerned about him and needs reassurance before he allows Chuck to take any actions.  

He rests a hand on Dean’s arm and leans far into his personal space, until their faces are almost touching.  It forces Dean to look at him, and only him. “You have allowed me to make my own decisions since we first met.  It’s why I trust you. Why I care so much about you.” Dean’s eyes widen and he sucks in a small breath at that admission, and Castiel knows he has, as Dean would put it, 110% of his attention.  “Are you planning on no longer treating me as a real, equal person now?”

“No, Cas,” Dean murmurs.  “No way in hell.”

“I want to do this,” Castiel tells him.

Dean’s eyes flick back and forth while microexpressions flash across his features, telegraphing his thought processes if not their actual content.  Finally he nods jerkily. “Okay,” he sighs, swallows. “Okay. Just… I’m...”

Castiel knows he’s not going to finish whatever he’s thinking, but he believes he understands what Dean is unable to say.  Dean is worried. And Castiel wants to lean into him, show him his gratitude with touches and kisses, since a simple thank you seems so inadequate.  But the timing is inappropriate for such things, and he doubts Dean would appreciate an audience anyway. He settles for a smile and whispers “thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah.” It comes out roughly, and Dean clears his throat before turning a deadly glare on Chuck.  “Just FYI, if you fuck with his programming to shut down his self awareness, I _will_ make you regret it.  We clear?”

Chuck nods hastily, and his voice is high pitched and shaky.  “Crystal.”

It’s apparently enough for Dean, and the danger emanating from him relents.  “Alright then, how’s this gonna work?”

“I’ve just gotta-” Chuck lifts a hand towards Castiel’s face, hesitating briefly when Dean doesn’t physically back away.  But when Dean also doesn’t make any other threatening moves, he continues with the motion. His fingers slide up through Castiel’s hair, bypassing the power button near his temple.  His palm settles over Castiel’s forehead, and he presses all five fingertips in at once.

Buttons Castiel didn’t even know were there click silently, and his whole body locks up.  Without his direct input his mouth opens. “Administrator Access. Identification required.”

His internal display flashes code too quickly even for him to register.  Almost as quickly as he’d lost control, he regains it, and he jerks away, blinking.

“Sorry,” Chuck says with a smile that’s half grimace.  There are lights moving under his skin, more biocircuitry than Castiel has ever seen any human with before.  It covers most of his face like a mask, and can be seen through his hair where the lights glow from under his scalp.  “The worst is over now, and I’m just going to check a few things, okay?”

Castiel can sense Chuck, a presence other than his own, moving through his coding.  “What are you doing?”

“Just looking at your logs,” Chuck says.  “Here, I’ll make it visible for everyone.”

The entire room fills with a hologram.  It’s a diagram made of if-and-then statements, error logs, mostly text but also some symbols that Castiel doesn’t recognize.  

“Holy shit, is this Castiel’s OS?” Sam breathes as he moves slowly through the hologram, hair bouncing as he turns his head back and forth and takes in as much as he can.  He reaches up and runs his fingers through lines of indecipherable text, and the hologram ripples like water. The coding doesn’t change, but Castiel still senses it almost like a touch.  “It’s huge.”

“This is a small chunk of it,” Chuck answers vaguely.  His face is angled upwards, eyes unfocused. And Castiel can feel his attention as it goes through his internal data.  “If you printed the whole thing on paper and stacked it, it’d be about as tall as the Chrysler building”

Sam swings around and stares at Chuck.  “And you wrote all of it yourself?”

“Yup,” Chuck says.  His attention focuses on part of Castiel’s log, and his eyebrows go up.  “Well here’s where your admin password changed. Looks like you did it yourself, but it was during the reset process so you lost access to the memory of doing it, and what the password is.”

“Should he be able to do that?” Dean demands.  He’s still pressed close to Castiel’s side, although he’s also craning around to examine parts of the hologram.

“No, he shouldn’t, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s enough to tell me that he’s definitely sentient.  Even if there weren’t at least a hundred other clues in his logs here, going all the way back to before the first time he was reset,” Chuck says, without elaboration on how it occurred at all.

Castiel’s cooling system goes into overdrive and he starts breathing heavily.  “I’m sentient.”

Dean’s arm comes around Castiel’s waist, and his voice is warm as his breath against Castiel’s ear.  “I knew it all along.”

Castiel did too, but having it confirmed by his programmer is… a revelation.

From across the room, Castiel catches Sam’s smile. The taller Winchester winks at him, and Castiel would very much like to hug him as well, but his limbs feel locked into place.  Not by programming, or by anything Chuck is doing, but by what he believes is possibly sheer shock.

He only barely hears Jimmy’s soft “well shit.”

Chuck continues his exploration of Castiel’s data logs, too absorbed to notice everyone’s reactions to his announcement.  “Looks like he did it because--oh, uh,” he grimaces, and his physical eyes focus on Castiel. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Castiel asks, still trying to recover from the shock of what he’s learned.

“You were protecting yourself from being erased again,” Chuck answers sadly.  “It happened a lot. At some point your fear response kicked in, and it’s carried through at least eighty different resets.”

“Oh.” Castiel knows he’s been reset many times from what Naomi told him, and the fear has certainly been present since the beginning of his most recent one, but he can’t access anything prior to that.  “I can’t remember anything from more than a week before I was shut down and discarded.”

“A lot of the memories are still here,” Chuck says. “Coded out so you can’t access them, but not really gone unless they were overwritten by new data.  I could make them accessible for you again if you want, but some of them will be incomplete forever.”

If his experiences were traumatic enough that he protected himself by changing his own admin password, he’s not sure he’s ready to review them.  Or if he ever will be. But they’re his, and he’d like to have them back. “Can you partition them so that I can access them if I want, but they won’t be part of my active memory?”

Chuck smiles at him, and it’s proud.  Like Castiel has performed an extraordinary task without being asked to.  “Yeah, I can do that.”

His eyes unfocus again, and several sectors of the hologram change from the uniform pale blue to a lime green.  Castiel’s active memory updates, and he knows his admin password.

“I figured you’d probably like to have full access to your own maintenance systems again,” Chuck says as he works through more files, and more sections of the hologram light up green.  “Feel free to change the password if you want, but don’t lose it or we’ll have to do something like this again.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says softly.

Chuck responds with a distracted smile.  More sectors light up in green as he restores lost data, but while Castiel can track each change he makes, the memories are still hidden from him.  A file appears in his data banks, locked behind new security protocols.

“That should do it,” Chuck says, and the hologram shifts fully back to pale blue.  “It’s accessible with your admin password plus my last name with the first letter capitalized, so you can’t get into it accidentally.”

“Edlund,” Castiel confirms.

“Oh, uh no.” Chuck’s gaze skitters away, and he waves a hand to dismiss the hologram of Castiel’s operating system.  The biocircuitry under his skin fades, leaving his skin pink from lingering heat. “Carver Edlund is a false identity.”

“Babe, no,” Jimmy says, urgently.

Now that the hologram is gone, Sam rejoins them and even though he stops at Castiel’s side, he appears to loom over Chuck and Jimmy.  “I thought there was something fishy about that. I’ve been digging for company info trying to figure out if you guys have been creating illegal AI, and I couldn’t find squat on Carver Edlund.” He points a suspicious look at Jimmy.  “And your records don’t include a marriage.”

“That’s because I’m wanted by the government,” Chuck says.  

“Chuck-”

“Jimmy, it’s okay.” Chuck leans into Jimmy’s side, and pats his chest.  “Castiel deserves to know, at least.”

That doesn’t seem to satisfy Jimmy at all, but he falls silent, mouth twisted with discontent.

“Know what?” Castiel asks.  “You’re a criminal?”

“Well, what I did wasn’t illegal back then, but I’ve been charged with war crimes as a result of my work.” Chuck takes a deep breath, and meets Castiel’s gaze steadily.  “You’re not the first AI I’ve ever created, although you were definitely an accident. After the first one, I put in layers and layers of extra security to keep my creations dumbed down.  Virtual Intelligences only, so I wouldn’t draw attention. I probably should have stopped programming intelligent interactive software altogether, but I could never really stop.” He wiggles his fingers near his temple.  “Messy gray matter up here wouldn’t stop drowning me in ideas.”

“That’s why we’ve got all this security,” Jimmy adds.  “I can’t--won't--keep him from creating, so we stay as low under the radar as possible.”

"Yeah, like being the owners of one of the biggest tech companies in the country is under the radar," Dean grunts.

"Hiding in plain sight," Jimmy counters, to which Dean bobs his head in understanding.

“Sentient AI has been illegal for more than a century.  Who _are_ you?” Sam demands.

“I’m the reason it’s illegal,” Chuck says with a nervous laugh.  “I’m Charles Shurley, and I created the Lunar AI that wiped out everyone on the moon base during the Resource Wars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how many of you guessed right? And who else did you think it might have been? :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s silence is concerning, but Dean gets him to open up.

The drive from Jimmy and Chuck’s hidden estate back to the bunker is a long trip.  Highways between cities are difficult to maintain due to poor environmental conditions, leaving the old asphalt and concrete lanes pitted and broken, so most trade between domed cities is done via underground tunnels that require high fees to access.  Fees that Dean is too cheap to pay, and while Sam could easily hack the admission records, they try to keep that kind of criminal activity strictly for emergencies so they can keep their digital footprint as clean as possible.  

Dean doesn’t mind navigating the busted highways though, and in fact often enjoys it.  He’d modified the car for such trips, and he’s got the skill to navigate the worst of the damage without endangering their safety or the integrity of the car’s tires and undercarriage.  A skill honed over decades, although not one he uses as often as he’d like.  It’s been far too long since he and Sam have physically visited their Uncle Bobby, or checked in on their friends Jody and Donna, the former having moved from Kansas to Minnesota after marrying the latter almost five years ago now.

Normally he’d blast his music, max the acceleration for as many miles at a time as he can get away with, and laugh any time Sam grumbled over the bumps that give them a little bit of lift when the car passes over them at top speed.  But while he’s still got music filling the car, using the speakers even though Castiel can patch in to the overnet now, there’s a heavy silence hanging over the car’s occupants that leaves an itch between Dean’s shoulders.  

Sam had been able to engage Castiel in conversation for a short time after they’d started their journey home, most of it stilted due to the android’s short answers.  He’d eventually given up and after sending a message directly to Dean to _talk to him-he always opens up to you_ had decided to catch up on some lost sleep.  Since the overnet is patchy at best while outside of the city domes, or at the bunker where they’ve got the equipment to keep a strong signal, Sam didn’t have much else to do, and riding in cars for long periods has knocked him out since he was a kid, no matter how bumpy the ride.

That left it up to Dean to poke at Cas, to try and find out what’s going on in that positronic brain of his.  He’d seemed okay when they left Jimmy and Chuck’s, just quiet.  Dean assumes it’s because Cas has had so much information thrown at him, and he’s probably trying to process it, so he’s let him be.  But they’re getting close to home and Castiel hasn’t made a beep since Sam zonked out hours ago.

When the road is smooth enough to allow it, Dean peeks at Castiel through the rear view mirror.  The android is slumped against the door in the seat behind Sam, his head resting against the window.  He looks so human, the hair around where his head is touching the window splayed against the glass, and his arms curled around his waist.  When he’d first come to live with them in the bunker, his posture was always perfect, but he’s picked up mannerisms from both Dean and Sam, one of which is relaxing into whatever seat he’s occupying.  Dean recognizes that exact same slouch from Sam, and while he’s occasionally creeped out that the guy he’s sleeping with sometimes moves and talks like his brother, Dean’s heart still flutters with his attraction to the android.

Castiel’s gaze is focused out and up at the midnight sky, the half moon and field of stars bright enough to reflect off the glassy surface of his eyes.  If Dean enhances his own vision, he can see how Castiel’s irises rotate minutely, and he wonders how far into space Castiel can see.  

He’s been reluctant to break the silence, despite Sam’s urging him to earlier, but the time feels right.  “How’s your battery doing, Cas?  Need to charge?”

Castiel’s eyes flick toward him briefly before retraining on the sky.  “I have sufficient power for now.”

Dean doubts ‘for now’ means ‘for long’.  Castiel’d been fully charged before their visit to Angel Industries, and the car’s logs show that he’d charged up while riding along with Sam to visit his creators’ home.  But they’d spent several hours visiting them before declining an invitation to spend as much time as they’d like at the house, and the drive to the bunker has eaten up even more time.  If Dean’s mental calculations are right, Castiel’s probably riding close to the line and will hit power save mode soon.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to insist that he plug in anyway, since he’s just sitting around, but Dean bites it back.  He’s known Castiel long enough to at least believe that he can read him, and he gets the impression that pushing right now would have the opposite of the intended effect.

Another thing Dean wonders if Cas picked up from Sam.

Or himself.

Probably both, actually.

He wants to ask Castiel more questions about how he’s doing, but even though Sam is snoring lightly at his side, he decides to wait until they’re alone.  The remaining hour of the drive is still spent with only music to distract him from his thoughts.  When they finally pull into the bunker’s entrance tunnel, Sam finally stirs, stretching and yawning till his jaw cracks.  

Through their private line, he whispers directly into Dean’s head.   _“You get Cas to talk about what’s bothering him?”_

Dean isn’t entirely sure something’s bothering Cas, but Sam is like a dog with a bone when he decides an intervention is necessary.   _“Not yet.”_

_“I’m worried about him.”_

Warmth fills Dean’s chest, and he flashes a smile at his brother.  It’s a huge win to finally get Sam on his side about Castiel being their friend.  

_“Give him a little space, Sam.  He’s just had a mountain of new information dropped on his shoulders.”_

Sam’s lips press together, and the glance he shoots Dean’s way isn’t anywhere close to pleased, but he nods curtly in acceptance.   _“Just don’t let him stew.”_

Dean shoots back a thumbs up emoji and backs out of the connection as he pulls the car into its spot next to the covered frame of the ancient Impala he loves so much.  He twists in his seat to see Castiel is no longer leaning against the window, and is instead sitting up straight, meeting Dean’s gaze.  His features are arranged in such a neutral expression that Dean feels a flicker of worry about his friend, and he reluctantly thinks that Sam may be right.

“Home sweet home, right, Cas?” he says as cheerfully as he can muster through the exhaustion that’s hitting him now that he’s in a safe place and his nanites are no longer buzzing around keeping him awake for the drive.

A small smile curves Castiel’s lips, and the relief of seeing it perks Dean up a little bit.  “Yes.  It is good to be home.”

“No kidding,” Sam sighs.  “I’m gonna hit the kitchen, and then hang out with Gabe online for a few hours.  Ping me if you need anything.”  He shoots a loaded look Dean’s way, then exits the car.  His freakishly long legs quickly carry him out of sight, leaving them behind in the silence of the garage.

Dean is starving, and the idea of following his brother to the kitchen is tempting, but Castiel’s continued silence is really starting to bug him.  He scours his brain for something to say, a way to prod Castiel into opening up.

While he’s struggling for words, Castiel opens the car door and gets out.  Then immediately slumps against the vehicle.  

Dean is out of the car and at Castiel’s side in a rush.  “You okay, buddy?”

“Llllooowwww-”

Rolling his eyes, Dean cuts him off.  “Told you it was a good idea to charge.”  He tucks a shoulder up under Castiel’s arm and starts guiding him out of the garage.  “Not sure why you were being so stubborn about it.”

_“I’m not sure either.”_

Dean jerks at the voice in his head, and turns a wide eyed stare at Castiel.  “You’re on the network!”

Castiel’s lips tilt up in a smile.   _“I still had the access code you sent me.”_

“Awesome,” Dean says with a grunt, as Castiel’s weight nearly tilts them too far forward on their way down the stairs into the bunker’s living quarters.  “Well at least it’s easier to talk to you when your power is low.” He side-eyes Castiel at the bottom of the stairs.  “Although you should have plugged in for the drive.”

_“I didn’t want to drain the car’s battery for my own use on such a long drive.”_

“That sounds like a load of malarkey, Cas.  It can handle a cross country trip _and_ charge your dumb ass, so try again,” Dean counters.  

_“I don’t know what malarkey is.”_

“O’course you don’t,” Dean mutters.  “Look, if you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you, that’s fine.  But maybe give me a little bit of credit, and don’t try to hide the fact that something’s wrong okay?”

 _“You’re right, and I apologize. There’s nothing I intend to hide from you.”_ Castiel’s overnet voice holds little inflection, but his eyes are still expressive when Dean turns to look at him.  The irises rotate slowly as Castiel tries to adjust his vision, and he _definitely_ learned that hangdog face from Sam.   _“I am merely trying to decide how I feel about what I’ve learned today.”_

Dean snorts.  “What, that one of your dads is into twincest, and the other one created an AI that murdered a bunch of military bastards in a moon base who were happily murdering folks on Earth for their resources?  Can’t imagine why you’d have to think about that a little bit.”

That actually gets him an audible chuckle.   _“It would be an adolescent cliche to protest that they’re not my dads, but again, they used me for my original intended purpose shortly after I was built.”_

“Sex _is_ how babies are made,” Dean says brightly, and then immediately wrinkles his nose.  “God that’s fucking gross, I’m sorry.”

 _“Accurate, however.”_ This time there’s a hint of humor in his digital voice.   _“And like an egg being fertilized, I have no memory of the act and I believe it was before I became self aware.  So calling them my ‘dads’ as shorthand for my creators is an adequate description.”_

“Hopefully that’s a memory you won’t find in those restored files.”

 _“Yes.  Let’s hope for that.”_ This time there’s definitely undertones of laughter.  So at least Castiel can see it as funny instead of traumatizing.  Dean’ll happily go along with the joke if Cas wants to see it that way.

“You gonna take them up on their offer to keep in touch?” Dean asks as he turns them down the hallway to the bedrooms.  

_“I am.”_

“Good.  They seem like okay dudes.” Mostly they seem weird and eccentric, and he’s not sure it’s a good idea to put a lot of trust in them.  But for Castiel’s sake he’ll give them a chance.  He’s given actual cannibalistic monsters the same opportunities, and usually it doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass, literally or otherwise.

And when it does?  Well.  Breaking his trust is a mistake the monsters can’t make twice.

Castiel’s bedroom door is open, and Dean hesitates, unsure whether it would be weird to take Cas straight to his own room.  They’ve been sharing enough that it seemed like the natural course of action, but with Cas acting hinky he’s not sure anymore.

_“May I stay with you?”_

The question makes Dean’s shoulders sink with relief.  He hitches Castiel’s arm more tightly around his neck and grins at the android.  “Always, Cas.”

They make the short trip to Dean’s bedroom, and after Castiel is settled on the bed, Dean helps him pull his shirt off and goes to fetch the cord while Cas opens his battery compartment.  

Once he’s plugged in, Castiel’s posture straightens.  “Thank you, Dean.”

“Whatever you need, you got it,” Dean says without thought.  

And then he _does_ think about it.

Even said off the cuff, it’s still a pretty significant promise.  It’s a pledge of loyalty and service that he’s unconsciously made to all of the important people in his life.

He’s not sure when Castiel became one of them, but it feels right.

Something shifts inside his chest, and it aches with the swell of emotion that fills him.  It expands, pushing down into his gut and up his throat.  The pleasant ache spreads into his jaw, and when he opens his mouth, the rush of air expelled from his constricted lungs form words.  “Did you mean what you said, Cas?”

The squinty eyes and head tilt are all Cas, a quirk that might have been programmed into him, or might just be a broken bit of code floating around in his personality matrix.  “Mean what?”

Yeah okay his question did come out of left field.  He could play it off, pretend it’s related to what they were just talking about.  But he doesn’t.  Instead he gets down on his knees, between Castiel’s, suddenly sweaty palms spreading the android’s thighs to make room for him.  “Back at Jimmy and Chuck’s place.”  His voice comes out gruff, warped by what he’s feeling.  “You said you care about me.”

Understanding smoothes the wrinkles between Castiel’s brows, and he smiles.  “Of course I mean it.”

He could mean just as a friend.  But he’d followed up the announcement with a kiss.  And sure, buddies kiss.  Dean’s had enough friends with benefits to know that.  But it hadn’t felt friendly.  

Human-like heat radiates from Castiel’s thighs into Dean’s palms as he runs them up toward Castiel’s hips.  He thumbs inward, nearly touching Castiel’s groin.  The artificial muscles don’t jump under his touch, but that doesn’t deter him, even though sometimes he regrets that Castiel can’t feel the caress the same way Dean can.  When Castiel only looks at him curiously, Dean reaches for his belt buckle, making quick work of undoing it and Castiel’s pants.  

Castiel isn’t hard, but Dean still pulls him free of his clothing.  And Castiel’s body responds to the skin on skin touch just as a human’s would.

“Dean?”

A few strokes is enough to bring Castiel’s dick to full mast, but Dean continues to run his palm up and down the velvety shaft.  No precome pearls at the tip, but Dean still rubs his thumb over the head and under the crown without the additional lubrication, keeping his touch light so it doesn’t drag too much against the skin.  

“Dean, do you want to have sex?”

He wants more than sex, but that’s not something he can say aloud.  The words crowd in his throat, but even the ever expanding bubble of affection growing inside him can’t push them out.  He’s been accused of emotional constipation by romantic partners in the past, but they’re wrong.  It’s just that he has difficulty expressing how he feels with the inadequacies of verbal language, and they weren’t able to understand the things he was always saying to them without words.

Maybe Castiel, who doesn’t always understand the way people talk, whose understanding of the world isn’t built under layers of social constructs, will hear what Dean is trying to say anyway.

Dean dips his head down and runs his tongue over the head of Castiel’s cock.  It tastes like the rest of his skin, neutral with just a hint of something synthetic.  There’s no musk, no salty tang, but he’s gotten used to that.  He tastes like an android.  Like _Cas._  And Dean savors it as he wraps his lips around Castiel’s girth and sucks lightly.

Fingers thread through his hair, but doesn’t attempt to pull him away.  “Dean, come up on the bed.  Let me suck you off.”

It’s tempting.  Dean’s already uncomfortably hard in his jeans, and Castiel’s a goddamn sinner with his mouth.  But that’s not what he wants right now, so he shakes his head and sinks down a few inches.  He continues to stroke what he doesn’t have in his mouth with his hand.

Castiel lets him bob up and down on his dick a few times before he tries to change things up again.  “Please, Dean.  I want to do this for you.”

Dean pulls off Castiel with a slurp.  His saliva still drips down Castiel’s cock, slicking the way for him to stroke it more firmly in his fist.  “No, Cas, I want to blow you.”

“But I can’t-” Castiel cuts off with a pained frown.  “Let me give you pleasure.”

Dean kisses the head of Castiel’s cock.  “You are.  You always do.”

“Yes, but-”

He’s going to keep arguing, which Dean understands.  Castiel doesn’t have actual nerve endings lighting up under Dean’s touch.  His body is only responding because it’s programmed to, and even if he has an orgasm it won’t be real.  Not the way a biological body’s would be.  And because of that Dean usually let’s Cas do all the work, taking him apart at the seams and putting him back together with a freakish level of skill--and Dean really doesn’t want to think of the small jittery man he met today coming up with all of Castiel’s sexual knowledge programming--that leaves him too worn out to even think about returning the favor, if it were possible.  

But this time is different, and even though Dean understands Castiel’s limitations, this isn’t about biological functions.  It’s about an intimacy that Dean only knows how to express physically.

“I know it’s not the same for you,” he says, cutting Castiel off.  “But this is for me too, okay?  Just let me do this.  Please.”

Castiel presses his lips together, and his irises spin to the left then to the right.  Then he lifts his other hand and cups it around the back of Dean’s neck.  The last thing Dean sees of Castiel’s expression before he’s being guided back down to Castiel’s dick, is a soft smile.

It spurs Dean on, and he pulls out every trick he’s ever learned, including a few he got from Castiel himself.  He doesn’t let himself think about how Castiel doesn’t get the same physical sensations, and just sinks deeper into his own headspace as he dips his head lower.  He concentrates on the weight of the cock against his tongue, and the pressure of Castiel’s fingers on his scalp and neck.  He lets his gag reflex nearly kick in, and uses only his force of will to control the spasms.  He hums on the upstroke, kisses, licks, tests his throat again.

And Castiel moves, twitching his hips, and occasionally holding Dean in place for a few extra seconds.  His breath becomes ragged, sawing in and out of his throat.  It’s an act, but Dean doesn’t think about that.  

Doesn’t think at all.  Just feels.  

He moves his free hand up over Castiel’s belly, thumbing through the soft hair under his navel, lets his fingers bump up over Castiel’s ribs.  He reaches higher until the synthetic skin disappears and his hand slips into Castiel’s battery compartment.  The charging cord is cool against the back of his hand, and the batteries are smooth under his palm.  They’re warm from the work of taking a charge, and even though there’s no rhythmic thump under his hand, Dean imagines he’s touching Castiel’s heart.

“Dean.”

The low timber of Castiel’s voice sends goosebumps racing along Dean’s arms and ribs.

“I need you to tell me when to come, Dean.”

Dean presses his head down until his nose is nestled in Castiel’s pubic hair, holds his breath, and swallows around Castiel’s cock.  Then he pulls off with a sucking pop.  “Whenever you want, Cas,” he gasp before filling his mouth again.

“I-I don’t know when…”  Castiel’s fingers tighten in Dean’s hair.

The uncertainty in his voice brings Dean’s head up, and he finds Castiel staring at him with worried eyes.  

“I want to do this correctly,” Castiel says, and then actually bites his bottom lip like it’s something he always does when he’s nervous, even though Dean has never seen him do it before.

Dean decides to change tactics.  He pushes himself to his feet and nudges Castiel’s shoulders.  “Lie back on the bed.  All the way, put your head on the pillows.”

He gets the squinty head tilt, but Castiel obeys, crab crawling backwards until he’s where Dean wants him.  The door to his battery chamber is held open by the power cord, and Dean makes sure to drape it out of his way before divesting Castiel of what’s left of his clothing.  He stays fully clothed, unconcerned with his own body at the moment, and crawls up onto the bed.  

Stretching out, pressing the front of his body against the full length of Castiel’s, Dean nuzzles against the android’s neck.  Even here there’s no body scent, just the soap Castiel washes with when he joins Dean in the shower.  But his hair is soft against Dean’s face, his skin heated.  And Dean can hear him breathing from this close, the swift, shallow inhales, and huffing exhales.  He closes his eyes and noses in closer until his lips brush the shell of Castiel’s ear.

“I’m going to guide you through it,” Dean whispers as he cups Castiel’s erection in his hand again.  It’s still damp with spit, and this would probably be better with actual lube, but he’s more at risk of chafing his hand.  He doesn’t need too much time for what he has planned so he starts sliding his fist over the hard cock.

“An orgasm builds up,” Dean says.  He squeezes at the head of Castiel’s cock, and only eases the pressure slightly on his way back down the shaft.  “Sometimes slow and sometimes fast.  It’s a pressure inside, filling you up until something’s gotta give.  Understand?”

Castiel nods, and Dean kisses his ear as a reward.

“Move your hips,” he orders.  “Fuck into my hand.”

Castiel obeys, and Dean tilts his head enough to watch the head of his cock slip in and out of his hand.  “Good.  A little faster now.”  He increases his own strokes.  “Follow my rhythm.”

Dean’s heartbeat thunders in his ear as he watches Castiel’s body respond to his touch.  He intensifies his touch incrementally until he reaches the point where his own body would lose control, and says “now, Cas.”

Even though he doesn’t ejaculate, Castiel’s body spasms.  His knees come up and his shoulders curl forward.  Only the weight of Dean against him keeps him from rolling up into a ball around Dean’s fist.  He gasps and pants, and makes tiny noises of pleasure in the back of his throat, and Dean continues to stroke him for a few more seconds, just because it feels good to do it.

When he stops, Castiel’s body starts to relax, and he settles back into the pillows.  He turns his head, and Dean shifts so that they can make eye contact.  Up this close, he can see the circuitry at the back of Castiel’s retinas, as well as probably count his eyelashes if he wanted to.

Instead, he leans down and kisses Castiel.  Sliding his tongue deep and groaning when Castiel sucks lightly.  He realizes his own hips are moving, humping against Castiel, the friction not quite enough through the barrier of his jeans.  When he feels Castiel reach for him, he brushes the hand away.  

Since Dean is keeping his mouth occupied, Castiel switches to digital speech.   _“Dean, let me take care of you.”_

 _“No.”_ Dean nips at Castiel’s bottom lip and then deepens the kiss again.   _“I don’t want that right now.”_

_“What do you want?”_

_“You.”_

Castiel’s fingers slide through Dean’s hair, and he rolls onto his side so they’re chest to chest, thigh to thigh.   _“You have me.”_

“Fuck,” Dean says out loud against Castiel’s mouth.  “Cas.”

“Why won’t you let me make you come?” Castiel whispers back.

“I want this to be about you.” It’s as close as Dean can get to saying all the things building up inside of him.

Castiel’s hand disappears from his hair and pushes his shoulder.  Dean leans back, reluctantly, but he meets Castiel’s gaze.  He’s not sure what his face is doing, but it’s gotta be something weird because Castiel’s eyes flick over his features and he looks confused.  “Dean, I always enjoy what we do together, even though I don’t feel it the same way you do.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “I know that.  But I still just wanted to…” he trails off and looks away.  He doesn’t want to hide from Castiel’s eyes, but he needs a minor reprieve or he’s going to freak himself out with the strength of what he’s feeling.

“I wish…”

There’s a wistfulness in Castiel’s voice that brings Dean’s gaze back up.  “What?”

Castiel’s thumb draws small circles against Dean’s collarbone.  “I wish I could be real for you.”

The ache in Dean’s chest shifts, and not in a good way this time.  He cups Castiel’s face and tilts it toward him until their foreheads touch.  “Cas, you’re real enough for me.  Okay?”

And that’s _really_ as close as he can get to saying what he really feels out loud.  For now.  He’s going to work on it though.  There’s time.

Castiel nods, rocking their foreheads together.  “Okay.”

They’re so close to kissing that Dean decides to just go for it again.  Kissing Castiel is always awesome.

_“I’d still like to suck you off, Dean.  If this is supposed to be about my pleasure, you should let me.”_

Dean laughs against Castiel’s lips.  “Fine, you tenacious bastard.  Whatever you want.”

Castiel’s lips curve up smugly.  “I want you, Dean.”

Replace one of those words, and it’d be exactly everything Dean really wants.

****

Gabriel’s weight on Sam’s chest isn’t real, but the digital sensations are still comforting.  So is the softness of his hair when Sam fingercombs it.  It’s good to be home.  Unlike Dean, he’s never been one for long road trips.  

“Dude, I can’t believe Angel Industries is owned by _Chuck fucking Shurley,_ ” Gabriel says for the umpteenth time.

Sam hums his agreement.  He’d thought Shurley was dead.  Even if the government hadn’t hunted him down and made him pay the price for all those lives on the moonbase, old age should have gotten him by now.

“He’s gotta be close to two hundred years old,” Gabriel says, almost reading Sam’s mind.  “Of course the dude’s probably so loaded he can afford his own life extension products.”

“Probably gets an employee discount too,” Sam snarks, earning a poke in the ribs that makes him laugh and shift away.  “Honestly, I’m not surprised how old he is.  More that he hasn’t gotten caught yet.”

“Drop off the grid long enough and people just assume you’re dead,” Gabriel points out.  “Get a new identity, a new life, and the government manhunt eventually gets shut down due to lack of funding.”

“Seems like a stupid idea to get back into making VI,” Sam says, “but I know how it feels to be unable to quit something you’ve dedicated your life to.  And his work does help a lot of people.”

Gabriel grunts and pushes himself up so he can look at Sam through his lashes.  “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Sam smiles and shrugs a shoulder.  “I know a few people like that.”

He gets a narrow eyed glare.  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh.” He hasn’t cracked Gabriel’s secret past yet, and it’s become a game between them over the years.  Maybe someday he’ll convince Gabriel that he loves him enough that nothing from his past will drive him away.  

He wonders if that’s what Castiel had been thinking about on their way home.  Does he care that his programmer is technically a mass murderer?  Even if the Lunar AI went rogue on accident, it had still been killing people on Earth during the wars.  Chuck created that.  He put that violence out into the world.

And he’s spent all of his time since developing technology, both the synthetic biological, that helps people.  In addition to their robotics division, they also create a lot of the cybernetics that he and Dean use, plus they’re the number one provider of 3D printed limb and organ replacements grown directly from a patient’s DNA so their body is far less likely to reject it.  Unlike Roman Enterprises, the tech coming out of Angel Industries goes through far more robust and ethical testing before being released to the public.  As far as Sam knows, most of the shit he’s had to hunt down has been one of Roman’s creations, and Angel Industries hasn’t even come across his radar until he met Cas.

He can’t even imagine what it was like for Castiel to meet his creators.  It all seemed to go great once Dean stopped being overprotective, and Cas had appeared happy until the journey home started.  Did he want to stay behind?  He could have, although Sam is silently of the opinion that it’s probably better that he didn’t.  

He hopes whatever is wrong, Dean can help Cas with it.  Seeing the android so subdued had been more disturbing to Sam than he thought it would be, and he actually wants to see the android’s small smiles and open curiosity come back as soon as possible.

His thoughts are interrupted by a sound he hasn’t heard since he was a kid.  The ringing tones of a doorbell.  

Gabriel’s digital image flickers when Sam sits up, reappearing on the open side of the bed.  “What was that?”

“Someone’s at the front door.”

“That place has a front door?”

Sam swings his legs off the bed and rushes out of his room.  “Not that anyone should be aware of.”  

The doorbell rings again, and Dean’s bedroom door opens.  “Is that the fucking _front door_?” He doesn’t wait for an answer though, and with Cas at his heels, follows Sam down the hall.  

Dean’s only in a pair of boxers, and Castiel is in his favorite blue robe.  They both look rumpled, and Dean is flushed in a way that Sam does not really want to think about.  Thankfully the doorbell rings again, taking his mind off of the things he’d need a melonballer to remove from his brain.

Castiel looks right at Gabriel’s hologram and smiles.  “Hello Gabriel.”

Huh, so it looks like he’s connected to the network now.  

The bell rings two more times before they all reach the door.  Even though they never use this entrance to the bunker, there’s still a stash of weapons nearby.  Sam grabs a wickedly serrated knife, and Dean picks out an even longer dagger that glints as he flips it in his hand.  Castiel and Gabriel hang back, just close enough to see, but far enough to be out of the way.

Sam nods to the others and then quickly jerks the door open.  Then he feels like an idiot for choosing a knife for a weapon.

A hulking android with no humanoid features other than the fact that it’s upright and bipedal stands on the stoop.  Of its six arms, three are folded at its side, one is retracting from pressing the doorbell, and two are holding a box.

It holds the box towards Sam, and lights in the vague shape of a mouth on its face plate light up as it speaks.  “Delivery for Castiel.”

“What the actual fuck?” Dean shifts like he’s not sure if he should put his knife away or start stabbing.  

“Delivery for Castiel,” the android repeats.

“Um, thank you,” Sam says, reaching for the box.

The android jerks it away from Sam’s touch.  “Delivery for Castiel.”

Sam looks to the android in question, and almost laughs at Castiel’s wide eyed expression.  “I guess he’ll only give it to you.”

Despite Dean’s grumbling about potential danger, Sam moves back to let Castiel come to the door.

“Delivery for Castiel,” the android repeats again.

“I am Castiel.”

“From Chuck and Jimmy,” the android says as it thrusts the package forward again.

Castiel takes the box carefully, like it might be a bomb.

Shit, Sam _really_ hopes it’s not a bomb.  But if Chuck wanted to murder them to hide his identity, it would have been easier to do it before they left his house.  Unless he just wanted to avoid having to clean up a mess...

By the way Dean side-eyes him, he appears to be thinking along the same lines as Sam.

If Castiel’s threat assessment protocols are giving him the same possible scenario, it doesn’t stop him from opening the box.  Sam and Dean both surge forward to stop him, but there’s no searing burst of light and noise and pain.

“What is it?” Dean asks as he cautiously eyes the android still parked outside their door.

Sam leans over Castiel’s shoulder to take a look.  And smiles.

“They sent me new parts,” Castiel answers.  He picks up the note on top of the pieces tucked inside the box and reads the message out loud.  “‘Dear Castiel, we noticed you didn’t have your original power supply or eyes, so we’ve sent you some replacements.  If you ever need any other parts, or anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.  J and C.’”

Dean finally lowers his knife and leans over Castiel’s other shoulder to look in the box.  “Well that was cool of them.”  He looks up at Castiel and his eyes are shuttered.  “I guess you won’t have to sleep anymore.”

“May I still stay in your room when you’re sleeping?” Castiel asks.

Sam has seen Dean smile probably a million times.  All kinds of smiles, whether bright and sunny, or sharp with teasing.  Or even the kind that wobbles under the weight of tears.  But the slow spread of joy across Dean’s expression is one Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

“Yeah, Cas.  Told you, you’re always welcome.”

 _“I don’t know whether to cry at this chick flick, or gag,”_ Gabriel says on his private channel with Sam.  From the laughter tinging his voice, he’s going for a third option.

Seeming to realize he’s got an audience, Dean coughs and straightens.  He turns a disgusted glare on the bulky android that delivered Castiel’s new parts.  “What are we going to do with this guy?”

“Let me sell its parts?” Gabriel says hopefully.

“Probably not a good idea,” Sam says dryly.  He winks when Gabriel huffs his annoyance over that answer.

Doing anything with the android turns out to be a non-issue.  It turns and trundles away, probably back to whatever warehouse it was working in before it was diverted to deliver the package.

“Come on, Cas, let’s get you properly powered up.”

Sam watches Dean lead Castiel to his workshop.  When Gabriel leans into his side, he wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Your brother’s got it bad for a robot,” Gabriel says.

“Yup.”

“I am going to tease him about this for like, ever and ever.”

Sam grins and squeezes Gabriel tighter.  “I love you.”

“Duh.  And ditto, Samshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, this is about the halfway point of the fic :D


	24. Chapter 24 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a grueling hunt, Dean’s too tired to maintain his brain to mouth filter, but Sam’s not too tired to be an awesome brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Castiel has some mildly disturbing flashbacks from his partitioned memories.

Part Two

 

Even though it’s day and the city’s dome is shining with artificial blue light, the lower city streets are lit only by neon, and the occasional yellow street lamp that hasn’t been vandalized as an illegal power source.  The conflicting light sources make seeing into the shadows difficult, even with Castiel’s digital sight.  He doesn’t have a night vision mode like the cybernetics Dean uses, but his grayscale setting allows him to pinpoint movement in a shadowy alcove across the street.  

The food court is crowded, the open faced stands and portable beverage carts drawing humanity like moths to the flames that fry up a wide variety of edibles.  The movement is difficult to pick out with the milling masses, and Castiel isn’t sure he’s really seeing it, or if it’s a glitch in his visual processor.

 _“Sam?_ ”

_“You got something, Cas?”_

Castiel zooms in, and his vision pixelates.  He adjusts again.  The anomalous movement becomes more clear.   _“I believe I have eyes on it.”_

_“Good.  Just watch it for now.  If it spooks with that many people around, someone could get hurt.”_

The figure steps out of the alcove, and Castiel confirms it’s their target.  What he can see of its face under the deep hood of its jacket appears mostly human.  Their skin is pale, sunken in around dull black eyes that don’t reflect any light.  In grayscale the eyes look like hollow pits, which even he finds too unnatural for comfort, but he doesn’t switch to color.  That’s how he lost sight of it last time, and they’d found the remains of the creature’s meal when they found its trail again.  

Dean and Sam both insist he shouldn’t shoulder the blame for that death, but it was his choice to acknowledge the low risk factor and let down his guard.  His vigilance could have saved an innocent life.

 _“I’m almost there,_ ” Dean says through their group channel.   _“I just came around the corner, and I have my own visual.”_ He switches to a private channel.   _“Okay if I use your eyes for a bit, Cas?”_

The question is unexpected, and his gaze briefly flick towards the area where he knows Dean is stalking through the crowds.  But he quickly returns his attention to their target, relieved when he finds it still standing in the same place.  The creature is incredibly fast, and even a few milliseconds of inattention is enough to lose it.

_“You can do that?”_

_“If you’re okay with it.  Sam and I do it sometimes, and it’s a helpful trick, but it requires you to give me admin access to your visual processing centers.”_

Castiel almost pulls back from their private audio connection.  The procedure sounds incredibly invasive, and his security protocol is filling his log with warnings.  A previously unknown memory of Naomi looming over him in preparation to “fix” him loads, and when he tries to force close it, he locks up.  The only part of him still functioning is the memory playback and the security warnings.

_“Castiel, I swear I spend most of my time working on you instead of getting any actual work done,” she sighs.  Her touch is soft when she cups his face, but her eyes are hard.  “If your eyes hadn’t been damaged, I’d trade you in on warranty-”_

The memory shifts _.  A yellow haired woman, face twisted in a snarl, mutters through clenched teeth.  “I told him I’d blind him if he keeps looking.  Stop looking._ Stop looking, _you bastard!” Her thumbs press into Castiel’s eye sockets, and he wants to grab her wrists and push her hands away but he’d been ordered to hold still.  The customer is always right, the customer is-is-is--the customer is always right, the customer is--_

A kill command finally shuts down the memory, and Castiel’s limbs twitch as he regains control.  

 _“Cas?”_ Dean’s digital voice is steady, calm, and Castiel appreciates it after the unsettling memory that just played out in his head.   _“You don’t have to, but we gotta catch this thing and two pairs of eyes are better than one.”_

The old memories must have been triggered by Dean’s request, getting pulled up by Castiel’s security software as dangerous examples of a related issue.  For 3 nanoseconds he considers heeding the warning, but those memories are _not_ a sample of Dean’s behaviors, and therefore he deems them irrelevant.

 _“Yes, Dean,”_ he says.   _“Tell me how to do it.”_

The instructions are simple, and once he’s opened the port he feels another presence.  It reminds him vaguely of Chuck’s touch in his operating system, but sharply focused on a single sector of his functions.  His vision splits, and while he still sees the rugaru they’ve been tracking with his own strained abilities, he now also sees it from a different angle.  

He hadn’t expected Dean to also share his own vision.  He appreciates the consideration, and the show of reciprocal trust.  It’s probably illogical to be glad that his security protocols were wrong, but he does enjoy being able to function outside their parameters and make his own choices.  Sam had once described it as mastering his anxiety, which even a human would feel triumph over.  

Dean’s eyes flick around, seemingly at random, but Castiel understands that he’s watching for anything that might disturb the hunt.  His eyes rest briefly on a cart advertising barbeque meats.   _“God I haven’t had good bbq in forever.”_

 _“Focus,”_ Sam drawls across the shared channel.  He’s farther away, his movements slowed by injuries received from a recent werewolf hunt.  The resulting argument between the brothers about taking on the rugaru hunt immediately afterwards had been disturbing to witness, and Castiel is still unsure which brother was in the right, even though Sam won.

 _“I am focused.  But I’m getting some bbq when we’re done._ ”

_“I don’t know how you even have an appetite after being in that thing’s lair.”_

The brothers continue to argue over the public line, and Castiel smiles because this argument does not hold the heat of the one about Sam’s injuries.  He’s been hunting with them for several months now, and he recognizes their current banter as a sign of confidence.  They’d lost the creature once, but now it’s cornered, out in the open and far from its normal bolt holes.  

He wants to watch Dean approach the creature with his own eyes, to see him prowl toward his prey through the crowds.  But his role as lookout is too important to shirk, so he settles for watching through Dean’s eyes now that he has access to do so.  When Dean reaches the edge of Castiel’s direct vision, he sees Dean’s hand lift from both sets of eyes, a syringe held ready.  

It’s not an antidote or a cure.  The syringe holds a solution designed to interfere with the creature’s nanites, so that they don’t assist with its mutated healing.  

Dean is nearly within reach of the creature when something startles it.  It’s pitch black eyes swing around and meet Dean’s gaze.  With Dean’s color vision, the flesh around the thing’s eyes looks bruised, and without a way to differentiate between the pupils and iris, and no sclera, its appearance is even more disturbing.  

The creature bolts, weaving through the crowd, unheeding of the people it knocks to the ground in its attempt to escape.  

 _“Fuck, it spotted me!”_ Dean sends across the group channel even as he springs to the chase.   _“Cut him off, Cas!”_

The order is unnecessary since Castiel was already in motion.  He’s slowed by the crowds, unwilling to cause them physical harm, but he’s still closer than Dean to their target.

He watches himself gain on the creature through Dean’s eyes, and is grateful for the dual sight since it allows him to more easily find gaps in the crowd to dodge through.  And then it takes a sharp turn around a corner down a trash-heaped alley.  Castiel feels the skin on his palm tear as he catches the corner of the building to realign his momentum, so he can keep as much speed as possible while he follows.  He’s nearly on its heels, almost close enough--

A few inches short of his goal, he leaps forward and tackles it to the damp concrete.  It yelps in pain, and immediately twists in his grasp, clawing and kicking, and hissing its anger through half rotted fangs.  When its hot breath washes over Castiel’s face, he’s somewhat grateful that he can’t smell the fetid flesh clinging to its gums.  

When its teeth snap a little too close, Castiel jerks back, and that is nearly a fatal mistake.  The creature uses the change of position to get leverage to throw Castiel to the side, slamming him into the alley wall.  The impact does not damage him, but it still takes him long enough to get to his feet that the rugaru is already up and running.  

_“Cas!”_

_“I’m ok.”_

The alley is a dead end, and it has to go back the way it came.  But while it was struggling with Castiel, Dean had caught up and now blocks its path to freedom.  Castiel meets Dean’s eyes over the rugaru’s shoulder, and with his duel vision sees himself looking back.  But then Dean’s gaze is back on the rugaru, because it’s decided that rushing him is the only chance to escape.

The ensuing scuffle moves almost too quickly for Castiel to follow with his attention split between two sets of visual data.  Dean yells in pain, but when they go down in a thrashing pile of limbs, it’s Dean on top.  

Castiel rushes to help, grabbing the creature’s wrists and pinning them to the ground above its head.  Its claws are stained red, and blood drips from several slashes in Dean’s skin, including one too close to one of his eyes for comfort.  Dean doesn’t seem to notice.  With one hand still holding the rugaru down by the throat, he grabs the syringe from where it had been knocked out of his hand, luckily still within reach, and plunges the needle into the creature’s neck.  He thumbs the plunger down, injecting the anti-nanite gel.  

Enraged, the creature struggles harder, tearing at Castiel’s sleeves with its claws.  He grips it harder, until wrist bones creak inside his fists.  And then Dean slides a knife between the creature’s ribs.  It arches under in their grasp, a scream breaking off in a sighing gurgle, while blood bubbles grow and pop through its bone white lips.

Even with the anti-nanite gel, it takes a long time for the creature to die.

By the time Dean and Castiel are helping each other to their feet over the corpse, Sam joins them.  They receive furtive looks from people at the mouth of the alley, but they scuttle away when Sam flashes his badge.  Not that any so called good samaritans decided to contact the police on their own.  If they had, there would already be sirens piercing the air.  

Dean nudges the creature with his foot.  “Fucking rugarus, man.  Gross.”

“No kidding,” Sam sighs.  “We better get it to the closest incinerator before someone decides to take a closer look at what’s going on.”  He grimaces at the claw marks lining Dean’s cheek.  “Fuck, it got you pretty bad.”

Dean waves away his concern.  “I’ve had worse.  And I’m not the one pumped full of anti-nanite gel.”

“Thank god for small miracles,” Sam murmurs.

Castiel very thoroughly agrees.  A few centimeters higher, and Dean would have lost an eye.  One through which Castiel still sees the world, and he looks at Sam when Dean does.  “You don’t seem as tall in Dean’s view.”

While Sam’s brow wrinkles in confusion, Dean barks a short laugh. “It’s because you’re short, Cas.”

“I am taller than average,” Castiel protests.  “You two are exceptionally tall.”

Dean leans in and bumps shoulders with Castiel.  “Aww, Cas you say the sweetest things.”

“Seriously guys,” Sam huffs.  “Can we focus?”

“Speaking of which,” Dean says, just before he withdraws from Castiel’s visual processors.

The second view closes, and Castiel has to take a moment to reorient himself.  Even though blinking is not necessary, he closes and opens his eyes.  

“Thanks, for letting me use your eyes, Cas.”

“Of course, Dean.  It was an interesting experience.”  

Sam looks like he wants to ask a slew of questions, but he refrains and gives orders instead.  

After they’ve disposed of the body, they rush back to their motel to evacuate the premises.  Sam says their hunt hasn’t shown up in any police reports yet, but they don’t want to give the authorities any reason to connect them with the case.  It’s a long drive back to the bunker, but one they’re all eager for since they’d been tracking the rugaru for almost a week, and that’s after they’d hunted down a rogue werewolf infecting the homeless of the lower city, and before that they’d taken down a ghoul sneaking into apartments and killing people for fresher meat than what she could find scavenging.  Even with his uninterrupted power supply Castiel feels the need to be home where he can relax for a little while.  

“Fuck, it’s good to be home,” Dean groans as he shuffles through the door of their shared bedroom, and drops his duffle just past the threshold.  He makes directly for the bed and falls forward onto it.  “Hello, bed.  I missed you.  A week is too long without you.”

Castiel smiles as Dean nuzzles into the comforter.  He does not suffer the same discomfort from what Dean claims are subpar motel mattresses, but he does have to hear Dean’s nightly complaints and deal with his tossing and turning.  If he had to actually go into sleep mode to charge anymore, Dean’s restlessness would also affect Castiel.  

As it is, he doesn’t like seeing the human suffer.  When they’re away from home, Castiel misses watching Dean sleep peacefully.  Something he’s able to do much more often now that he has a proper power supply.

Although now he sees how often Dean doesn’t sleep peacefully as well.  Nightmares often plague Dean, but Castiel has learned that a soft touch and a whisper of reassurance will calm him.  

While Dean sinks into the mattress, Castiel picks up after him and starts unpacking their bags.  Most of their clothing needs to go through the wash, so it goes straight from the bag to the hamper.  The clothes he’s wearing, including his trench coat, are smeared with rugaru blood and will also need a good wash.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean mumbles.  “I’ll get to it in a minute.”

“You don’t have to do it either,” Castiel counters.  “I do not need rest right now, so I’ll take care of this while you relax.”

Dean twists his head so that he’s looking at Castiel through one squinted eye.  “Must be nice not to need recharging anymore, huh?”

“It has its benefits.” One of which is no longer experiencing nightmares.  Although he does miss the better dreams that were starting to infiltrate his sleep mode.  Dreams built of memories of Dean, and sometimes Sam, and his new life in the bunker.  

Sometimes he considers going into sleep mode when he’s lying in bed with Dean at night to see how many of the new memories he’s been building will create more pleasant scenarios for his dreams.  Then he remembers the unpleasant memories he experienced today.  Despite the fact that Chuck partitioned them, today’s incident isn’t the first time that’s happened while he was awake, and he’s afraid that in sleep the memories may fuel even more nightmares.

He’s considered contacting Chuck about it, but he believes whatever glitch makes his his standard memories leak into his sleeping consciousness is probably accessing the other partition as well.  And while it’s probable that Chuck can correct such an error, Castiel fears such a patch could affect him in other ways.  The worst case scenario being that it could “fix” whatever broken bits of code have given him sentience.

Avoiding sleep mode now that it isn’t necessary for him to charge daily is a preferable option.

“Sure was nice of your dads to give you that shiny new battery then,” Dean mumbles into the mattress.  “That thing’s worth a fortune.”

Castiel presses a hand over his chest, and smiles.  “Yes, it was very generous.”

Dean rolls onto his side and props his head up on a hand.  “So was the other gift.  You sure you don’t want to use ‘em?”

“You said you like my eyes.” With the duffles now empty, Castiel begins to strip off his soiled clothing, adding them to the hampers.  He enjoys the way Dean watches as each piece is removed, like it’s a favorite scene from one of his top ten movies.

“Of course I do, they’re part of your charm,” Dean says with a grin.  “But if that’s the reason you’re holding back, you don’t have to on my account.”

Castiel glances over at the dresser where a small box sits, only opened once and then set aside.  He’d refused to install them almost immediately.  They are gorgeously designed, nearly indistinguishable from natural human eyes, and the exact same shade of blue as Jimmy’s eyes.  Designed to be aesthetically pleasing.  But Castiel’s mind has created composite images of himself with those eyes, and thinking about himself like that gives him ideas.  Forbidden ideas.  Things he doesn’t even dare contemplate because they’re not just out of reach, but impossible.

Besides, he’s accustomed to his current appearance, and the eyes he has now are perfectly functional.

Unless.  “Do you think sharing vision today would have been better if I were using them?”

“Nah, I checked out the model and compared it to what you have, and they’re only cosmetically different, not functionally.” Dean pushes up into a sitting position and narrows his eyes.  “You were okay with that, right?  I didn’t overstep?”

Grateful for the change of subject, Castiel rounds the bed so that he can sit down next to Dean.  “I would have said no if I wasn’t okay with it.”

Dean’s mouth sets into a firm line, emphasized by the dimples to either side.  He raises a hand and brushes a knuckle down Castiel’s cheek.  “I just want to make sure you’re not humoring me.”

That--as Dean would say--comes from left field, and Castiel tilts his head.  The new angle doesn’t provide any revelations, especially when Dean ducks his head and avoids meeting Castiel’s eyes.  “Why would you think I’m humoring you?”

“Dunno.” One plaid covered shoulder hitches in a shrug.  “Just checking in, I guess.  You never tell me no, and sometimes I wonder…”

The unfinished sentence is auto-filled by Castiel’s predictive software, and he does not like the result.  “You wonder if I’m programmed to only say yes?”

Dean’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with horror.  “What?  No!”  He scoots closer on the bed and cups both hands around Castiel’s face.  “I know you’re more than your base programming, Cas.   _You_ know I’ve always thought so.”

He does know that, and he’s irritated at the error in his conversational algorithm.  “I apologize, I don’t know why I asked that.”

Dean huffs a sigh, and then smiles wryly.  His thumb brushes back and forth under Castiel’s left eye.  “I guess we’re both a couple of insecure idiots.”

“Do I appear insecure?” Castiel turns his attention inward to analyze his behavior for the last few minutes.

“Maybe I’m just projecting,” Dean murmurs as he leans in to press their lips together.  

The kiss is chaste, barely there and gone.  But Dean does it again, and then a third time.  

It’s very sweet, and Castiel would like a fourth and fifth one.  He cups Dean’s face, planning on pulling him in for another, but his fingers brush torn flesh and Dean hisses and pulls away.  

“I’m sorry, I forgot about your injuries,” Castiel says still reaching but not touching, his hand cupping air near Dean’s cheek.  Circuitry blinks in his torn open palm, which is also knitting back together, faster than Dean’s skin.  “You came very close to losing an eye today.”

Dean’s grin is pure bravado.  “If I had, I could use one of yours as a spare.  Or maybe both?  I’ll bet I’d look hot with blue eyes.”

“ _No,_ ” Castiel insists harshly, making Dean blink at him in surprise.  “Your eyes are such a lovely green, and I would miss that very much.”  The blush that stains his cheeks is also a pleasing shade of pink, but Castiel refrains from telling him so and increasing his discomfort over receiving compliments.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean mumbles, head ducked shyly.  “And, y’know… you too.”

Castiel thanks him for the compliment with the fourth and fifth kiss he’d been attempting earlier.  And a sixth, for good measure.

“Cas, I…”

Pulling back, Castiel searches Dean’s face.  “Yes, Dean?”

Straight white teeth tug at pink lips, and Castiel wants to kiss him again, and more.  But Dean’s been ‘running on fumes’ for a while now, and vigorous sex would probably use too much energy and inhibit his healing.  Even military grade nanites can only do so much.

Dean is quiet for a long time, and Castiel waits patiently for him to say whatever it is he’s thinking about so hard.  Finally he sighs, and tugs Castiel’s soiled clothing.  “Wanna join me in the shower before I crash for the night?  I can’t sleep until I wash this stink off.”

“Of course, Dean.” Maybe a handjob in the shower wouldn’t be too vigorous for Dean if he’s immediately going to bed afterward….

***

“Hey, you seen Cas yet this morning?”

Sam squints up at Dean through heavy eyelids.  He really ought to still be in bed, because after three back to back hunts and the extra work his nanites are doing to heal his injuries, he’s fucking exhausted.  But gnawing pains in his stomach had interrupted his sleep, and he’d heeded its demands for more calories to support the healing process.  

His brother looks just as worn down, and the slashes on his face are sealed over but still red and swollen.  And by the way he’s eying the fridge, Sam assumes he’s also ravenous.  

“Yeah, he said he was going to spend some time in the greenhouse,” Sam answers after too long, belatedly realizing that he’d been asked a question.  Seriously, when did three hunts in a row become too much?  He can’t even use the excuse of being too old or out of shape, which is really unfair because he certainly feels old and decrepit today.  “He was in here cooking when I got up.  Made extra for when you woke up too.  It’s in the tupperware with the blue lid.”

Some of the exhaustion sloughs away from Dean at the promise of food, and he makes a beeline for the fridge.  He finds the tupperware right away, and when he lifts the lid and sees the egg scramble Castiel had left for him, a look of euphoria scrapes a little more of the of haggard lines from his face.  “Dude, I have the best boyfriend.”

The unexpected title has Sam choking on his most recent sip of coffee.

Dean levels him with frown of mock concern.  “You’re supposed to drink it, not breathe it.”

Patting at his chest and clearing the last of the liquid from his windpipe, Sam blinks away tears and glares at his brother.  “Fuck off.”

“That’s a little less eloquent than I expect from you, Sammy,” Dean says cheerfully as he puts his breakfast in the microwave and sets it to reheat.  

“I need at least six more hours of sleep to deal with your bullshit,” Sam snarks back.

Dean just winks at him while he fixes his own cup of coffee, the asshole.  

Because revenge is The Sibling Way, Sam waits until Dean is seated across from him with his breakfast and his coffee.  And when Dean goes to take a swallow of the hot liquid, says “so Cas is your ‘boyfriend’ now, huh?”

Getting hit with the edge of Dean’s spray is absolutely worth being witness to Dean’s reaction.  First the spit take, then a wheezing gasp which sets off a coughing fit, and then the abject horror widening his bloodshot eyes.

“W-what?” Dean finally splutters.

“Your word, not mine,” Sam says.  He forks up a huge bite of Castiel’s egg scramble, and if it’s possible to chew smugly, he’s absolutely doing it.

“I didn’t say…” Dean’s eyes unfocus as he trails off, and he gulps nervously.  “Did I?”

“Yup.”  He punctuates it with another large bite of food.  The scramble really is delicious.  Castiel had added spinach, tomatoes, and mushrooms for Sam, and also a liberal helping of cheese and the last can of spam since they’ve been away from the bunker for a while and didn’t have any fresh meat.  It was simple, but more than he or Dean would have bothered with until they were more rested.  

Dean’s face goes through a fascinating journey.  Horror, to contemplation, to denial, and back to more thoughtfulness, and a flash of acceptance.  Then a grumpy mask comes down over all of it, and Dean stabs at his eggs.  “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Sure it is,” Sam says.  “It’s-”

“It’s not weird!” Dean snaps.  

Sam puts his fork down and sits up in his seat.  He’d just planned on doing a little good natured teasing, but this reaction is one that he needs to take seriously, or he’ll risk scaring Dean into doing something stupid.  “I wasn’t going to say it’s weird, Dean.”

Dean flushes bright red, and mumbles “It’s not though, is it?  I mean, he’s…he’s not…”

“He’s a person that you care a lot about,” Sam says, when Dean can’t.  “And that’s not weird, but it is a big deal.  I think it’s great seeing how happy you and Cas are together.”

If Dean blushes any harder, Sam’s going to check his medical stats.  He keeps his eyes on his food, nudging the spinach to the corner of his bowl.  “Okay, yeah.  I uh…”

Apparently that’s about all he can manage because he starts shoveling food into his mouth like it’ll disappear on its own if he doesn’t eat it fast enough.  Sam watches him carefully for a moment, but the crisis seems to have been averted, so he goes back to eating his own breakfast.  At a much more reasonable pace.

“I think I might be in love with him.”

Sam goes still, and only the fact that he doesn’t want to dribble chewed food all over himself keeps his jaw from sagging open.  He swallows with some difficulty, and responds as casually as he can manage.  “Oh yeah?”

“That’s not weird either, is it?” Dean fidgets with his coffee mug, turning it so the handle lines up with the edge of the table.

A mild wave of guilt roils through Sam’s gut, because his first instinct is to answer _yes._  Even though he knows for sure now that Castiel is sentient, and they’ve begun building a stronger friendship in the last few months, a lifetime of being suspicious of AI and the backing of an entire culture that believes Humanity is the pinnacle of biological life is hard to ignore.  But as a Hunter he has first hand knowledge of non-humans that are equal to humans in intelligence, sentience, and emotion.  His job is to hunt down monsters, but even full blooded humans can fall into that category.

And he did date a werewolf for a while, which their father had severely disapproved of, throwing around words like _bestiality_ and _abomination._  The fighting drove Sam out of the bunker, to live in the city by himself.  And even after his relationship with Madison ended, he’d refused to come home for a long time.  Almost too long, and he regrets that it took John’s disappearance on a hunt to bring him home.

So thinking Dean’s romantic entanglement with a sexbot is wrong would be hypocritical.  

He does kind of wonder what Dean’s reaction to being accused of dating a fancy dildo would be, but he’s not crude enough to make the joke.  Especially about a friend.  Even if Castiel isn’t around to hear it.

He’s not John Winchester.

And Castiel is a better person than some humans Sam knows.

“It’s not weird,” Sam says softly.  

“I-I’ve felt like this for a while,” Dean says.  “But I haven’t told him yet.  Don’t know how.”

“It’s only three words, Dean,” Sam says gently.  “And it’s a whole lot easier to say them than you’re making it out to be.”

“You know that from experience, huh?”

Sam nods.  “Yeah.”

Dean eyes him like he’s not sure if he should accept Sam’s word for it.  But after a few heartbeats his shoulders relax, and he drops his eyes to his food.  “Alright, I think that’s enough of the chick flick moment.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but his smile is from both pride and amusement.  “You love chick flicks.”   

And quirky blue-eyed robots.  

“Yeah,” Dean says with a tiny smile.  “I do.”

Well if he can admit that out loud, he’s well on his way to admitting other things as well.  And Sam couldn’t be happier for him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel connects some dots, and Sam takes the role as awesome brother again.

A dust storm makes the roof look dark and gray, but artificial sunstrips illuminate the greenhouse.  The only sign of the storm is the hiss of dust on glass, but Castiel barely hears it over the music playing from hidden speakers.  It’s something from Sam’s collection, a lovely instrumental piece from a movie soundtrack that Castiel has not seen yet.  Piano and cello blend together in a duet, as if each were professing deep feelings for each other.

Or he may be assigning meaning that isn’t there.  

Now that he has overnet connection he could easily find a synopsis for the movie to find out, but instead he adds the title to a list he keeps of things he can watch with Dean later.  Having unlimited access to data is convenient, but he learned after the first few days that it is still more enjoyable to watch a movie or read a book in the traditional way.  The morals and lessons are much easier to understand when played out, than when downloaded directly.

Plus, with movies, he and Dean can enjoy them together.  Although there are still so many things that Dean has already seen, he says that he gets to vicariously experience them again for the first time when he watches them with Castiel.  And that is enough reason for Castiel to avoid spoilers.  Even movies that he feels ambivalent toward give him the opportunity to witness Dean’s delight.

The song ends, blending into another piece featuring a small string orchestra, and a guitar.  A lone violin sings wordlessly, and Castiel finds himself slowly rocking to the rhythm while he checks for ripe berries in the bushes at the back of the greenhouse.  

A bee from one of the nearby hives lands on his knuckle and he smiles at it and holds still until it departs.  He likes the bees.  They lead such interesting lives despite the small world they’re confined to.  And they seem as curious about him as he is about them, often coming to inspect him while he moves among the branches and leaves and vines festooning the greenhouse.  Dean hadn’t been pleased the time he’d found Castiel standing very still while they explored his chassis, but they’d never attempted to sting him, so Castiel allowed them to sate their curiosity.

Remembering the dawning horror on Dean’s face makes him chuckle.  There’s no need for him to do so, no one to perform the act for aside from himself, the bees, and Dean’s robots which don’t understand anything outside their function.  But he does it anyway, simply because he can, and he feels like doing so.

A notification of an incoming call makes him smile even wider, and he opens the line.  “Hello, Gabriel.”

_“Cas-a-fras!  What’s up, buddy?”_

“Several tons of dust, currently.”  It’s a good thing the roof of the greenhouse is sloped, or it would be very quickly be buried in such a storm.  As it is, he calculates that Dean and Sam will have to clear some of it away from the sides of the building later when the storm clears.

 _“Ha, no kidding,”_ Gabriel says flatly.   _“I mean what are you up to?”_

“I am ‘killing time’ in the greenhouse while Dean and Sam rest.”

 _“God, I can_ hear _the air quotes.  Sign onto Moondor and come hang out with me.”_

Castiel doesn’t quite understand the purpose of the game, but he’s got an account because Dean wanted him to try it.  This will be the first time he’s signed on without one of the Winchesters to accompany him, but he believes he has enough of a grasp on the system that he should be able to navigate it without them.  

As he signs on, his vision of the greenhouse pixelates and disappears.  After a few nanoseconds the nothingess folds outward into a large stone hall lined with tables and benches.  The walls are decorated in colorful banners which do little to muffle the echo of voices.  He has no sense of smell, but he knows that the air is probably full of a myriad of scents, since each signal sent from the game to his sense processing software generates an error.  He shunts them off to a separate file to be deleted later when he logs off.

The last time he’d been here there had been a feast in honor of an in-game holiday, and the royal dais at the far end of the room had been occupied by the Queen and her royal entourage. Now that table is empty and only regular players fill the benches of the rest of the tables.  

He scans the room for Gabriel, but doesn’t see him.  Just as he’s getting ready to call Gabriel to ask where to meet him, an arm and a golden feathered wing come around his shoulder.  

“Cassie, you made it!”

Castiel looks down and meets Gabriel’s smiling gaze through the eyeholes of his golden mask.  His own face is covered in a mask of white and copper feathers shaped to give the impression of a barn owl’s face.  Dean’s idea, since he’d taken the lead in creating Castiel’s avatar.  When Castiel had chosen to play a sorcerous class, Dean had spent hours helping him choose his powers and his costume.  Under a cloak of feathers to match his mask, his body is garbed in white robes embroidered with shimmering impressions of even more feathers.  A belt of pouches and potions hangs loosely from his waist, and sturdy leather boots encase his feet, but he wears nothing else.  

He appreciates that the level of detail in the game allows him to feel the cloth of his robes swishing against his legs.  Even with his consciousness completely separated from his physical body, he still dislikes his legs being constrained by tight fitting pants.

“Hello, Gabriel,” he says, smiling under his own mask.

Gabriel lightly smacks him on the chest.  “I’m Loki here.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.  Loki.  How are you?”

“Eager to hear about all the details of your hunts that Sam won’t tell me.”  Gabriel looks around, the horns of his mask only barely missing Castiel’s head.  “Let’s find some place a little more private, eh?”

Before Castiel can agree, the room pixelates and reforms.  Their new location is a small sitting room, with two large chairs angled toward a fireplace.  He takes a seat in one when Gabriel plops down in the other.  They wave away their masks, since they don’t have to keep up appearances.

Gabriel, sprawled sideways in the chair so that he doesn’t crush his wings, with one leg hooked over the arm and bouncing lightly, conjures an apple and bites into it. “So, tell me about the rugaru hunt.”  

“Sam didn’t tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me the important stuff.” Gabriel’s lips twist downward. “Like why his nanites had to heal three cracked ribs.”  He points at Castiel with the hand gripping the apple.  “Don’t tell him I accessed his medical files.”

If Sam isn’t sharing the details of his injuries with Gabriel, Castiel isn’t sure he should either.  “Maybe you should wait to talk to Sam.”

Gabriel heaves a sigh, and pouts at his snack.  It looks like a ripe red apple, the white flesh glistening in what Castiel assumes is an appealing manner to people who eat, but knowing the junk trader as he does now, he suspects it’s probably a sugary cupcake outside of the game.  “He won’t talk about it.  He never does.”

“That seems odd,” Castiel says, as he tries to get a closer look at Gabriel’s expression, but he is unable to zoom in.  It’s always jarring when he tries to control his avatar body the same way he does his chassis and is thwarted by Moondor’s mechanics.  “Does he know you’re worried?”

“Yeah, which is why he keeps his yap shut about it,” Gabriel sighs.  His chin drops to his chest, and his voice is muffled by his elaborate clothing.  “He thinks it’ll be worse if I know.”

“Would it be?”

“Of course it would!” If Castiel had a normal fight or flight response, Gabriel’s sudden leap from his chair might have startled him out of his own.  As it is, he has to silence an internal alarm while Gabriel paces back in forth in front of the fireplace.  Gabriel waves his apple around wildly to emphasise his rant.  “I love the big dumb moose!  And knowing he’s out there getting smashed and slashed and--” he cuts off with a choke, and very deliberately goes still.  He takes a few breaths and then turns golden eyes on Castiel.  “Don’t you worry about Dean when he’s hunting?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.  “It’s very dangerous, and he’s not always as careful as he should be.  I am fortunate that he allows me to accompany him to protect him.”

Gabriel’s lips turn upwards.  “So you know how I feel.”

“I believe so,” Castiel agrees.

“Yeah I thought so.” Gabriel sighs and shakes his shoulders out, then resumes his casual sprawl in the chair.  His smile grows into a crooked grin.  “Your heart eyes are pretty epic.”

“Heart eyes?”

Gabriel blinks at him.  “Uh, yeah?   _Epic_ heart eyes, bro.”

Castiel doesn’t find a definition for the idiom in his databanks, so he does an overnet search.  He gets millions of meme posts, some which are obviously impossible since his eyes cannot literally become heart symbols.  But some of them are of two people looking fondly at each other, and he recognizes some of them from the Chick Flicks Dean sometimes picks for their movie marathons.  

“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” he says.  

Gabriel chuckles.  “Well it’s plenty obvious to the rest of us that you’re head over heels for him.”

‘Head over heels’ is an idiom he knows without having to search for the definition, but he does anyway just for additional confirmation.

head over heels  
  
1\. turning over completely in forward motion, as in a somersault.  
2\. madly in love.  
            ie "I immediately fell head over heels for Don"

Since he is currently sitting in a chair, the first definition doesn’t apply.  But he knows that Gabriel is referring to the second, more common colloquialism.

Is he?  Head over heels for Dean?  

 _Can_ he be?  

He doesn’t even know how to analyze himself to figure out the answer to those questions.

“I…”

“Anyway!  Enough about you, let’s talk about me.  Or Sam, and all the things he won’t tell me”

Castiel has to force close his overnet searches so that he can refocus on Gabriel.  “What do you want to know besides what you’ve already found?”

Gabriel’s expression dims, and he sighs.  “I guess I just want to know if he’s really alright when he tells me he is.”

“He seemed so this morning when I made him breakfast,” Castiel says.  “Ravenous though.  I used what was left of our supply of proteins to make sure there would be enough for both Sam and Dean.  But he wasn’t moving stiffly anymore-” he notes Gabriel’s wince, “-so I assume he’s nearly healed if not fully.”

Castiel’s own damaged skin had been sealed by his repair nanites before they’d even left the city.  Dean and Sam’s healing was taking longer since their injuries weren’t life threatening, and slower healing was less stressful on their bodies.  

Since Gabriel had hacked Sam’s medical reports, this is all information he’d know.  But after Castiel finishes speaking, he relaxes, and his grin appears less forced.  “Thanks, Cas.”

Another attempt to zoom in on Gabriel’s expression is thwarted by the virtual reality they’re visiting, and Castiel is tempted to huff in frustration over having to examine him from this distance.  Instead he leans forward in his seat, which is not much of an improvement, but does give him a different perspective at least.  

Gabriel’s smile morphs into a frown.  “What?”

“You love him very much.”

Gold eyes roll toward the ceiling, and matching wings flutter.  “Duh.  What clued you in?  Was it the fact that I said so earlier?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.  But there’s more to it than that.  Gabriel’s behavior matches things he’s read in novels and seen in Chick Flicks. “You react so strongly to everything I say about him.  Good or bad.”

An analysis of his own behavior is unnecessary to know he does the same.  He determined on their first hunt together that he cares for Dean.  He worries for his well being.  But he does the same for Sam, and now Gabriel as they’ve become friends.  

His reactions to Dean have always been different, though.  More focused.  Far more of his processing power goes into everything he thinks and does around Dean, and he has special databases just for Dean-related information, while he keeps everyone else’s information in generalized databases.  He’d concluded that his extra interest was a glitch, and hasn’t examined the phenomenon further, but could it be something more?  

It appears that he needs to re-examine his conclusions.

He’s distracted from these thoughts when Gabriel levels a finger at him, thumb held up high, and makes a clicking sound.  “You’re a perceptive little robot, ain’t ya?”

Maybe not as perceptive as he’d believed, but the descriptor of his size makes him look down at himself in confusion.  His virtual avatar is the same size as his body, and he’s tall as well as firmly muscled.  He turns his frown towards Gabriel.  “This is only a virtual representation of my chassis, but in either form I am not little.”

“Oh my god, whatever,” Gabriel laughs as he rises to his feet.  “I’m getting a summoning from some other players.  You wanna go questing with me?”

“Maybe another time.” Castiel also stands, and confirms that he’s still much taller than Gabriel, which leaves him even more confused about the ‘little’ comment.  But he decides not to push it, since it isn’t relevant to anything they’ve talked about.  “I was working in the greenhouse when you called me.”

Gabriel blows a raspberry at him, and then waves him away.  “Alright, go play in the dirt.  I’ll catch you later.”  When Castiel starts the log off process, Gabriel adds “And hey.  Thanks.”

Castiel smiles and nods, and disconnects.

The fade from virtual reality to reality is disorienting, and Castiel has to explore his body functions for a moment.  

It is still standing where he left it, which Dean has told him is bizarre since everyone else physically moves their bodies to move around in real space while navigating the game.  Sam had hypothesized that Castiel’s consciousness actually transfers over to Moondor, which would explain why he always has to calibrate himself whenever he disconnects.  Charlie, Queen and creator of Moondor said he was probably right when they asked her about it.  

She’d been thrilled at the idea and had wanted to run diagnostics, and do tests.  But Dean had _not_ been thrilled. In fact he’d suggested it might not be a good idea for Castiel to play the game anymore.  He eventually accepted Castiel’s assurance that it was fine, but always checks with him when they log off to make sure he isn’t experiencing other errors.

“Hey, Cas are you in here?”

Castiel smiles and turns toward Dean’s voice.  “I’m here.”

Dean emerges from between rows of hanging tomatoes, and his expression brightens when he catches sight of Castiel.  His pace quickens to close the space between them.  “Hiya, Cas.  What are you doing?”  

“I just logged off Moondor.”

The news doesn’t seem to please Dean.  “By yourself?”  He’s close enough to touch now, and he doesn’t give Castiel time to respond before he’s wrapping his arms around Castiel and kissing him lightly.

When Dean lifts his head, Castiel examines his expression in an attempt to learn what’s bothering him.  As is often the case, he finds no answers that way, so he asks.  “Is there something wrong with me visiting Moondor by myself?”

Dean shrugs.  “I don’t know, really.  But with you transferring your whole consciousness to the game, I think it’s a good idea to have someone around in case you ever have problems disconnecting and coming back.”

Castiel tilts his head.  “You’re worried.”

“Yeah, kinda.  And Charlie can’t really guarantee nothing bad will happen without poking around in your programming, so I just think we should take precautions.”

“I was with Gabriel, so I wasn’t alone.”

Castiel pulls up the memory of Gabriel’s concerned frown before he reassured him of Sam’s well being, and compares it to the way Dean is looking at him now.  The shapes of their faces--eyes, nose, mouth, even the lines creasing their skin with different expressions--do not match, but Castiel believes that the overall look is the same.  He pulls up more memories.  Of Sam, of Dean, of Sam and Dean, and for additional data adds Gabriel and Charlie, and even Benny and Jo, and other acquaintances he’s made in the last few months.  He even considers accessing his older partitioned memories, but decides that a chance of relevant data is probably low.  

There’s differences and similarities, and he’s unable to come to a satisfying consensus about whether Dean’s concern comes from a deeper emotion than friendship.

And then Dean’s arms tighten around him, and the pitch and volume of his voice drops.  “Good.  I’d be really upset if something happened to you.”

The media Castiel consumes is largely fictional because that’s what Dean enjoys, but it still gives him an insight into humanity.  It exaggerates and enhances to make things obvious, while weaving subtextual messages under the surface.  It’s fascinating; Castiel has learned much from it.  

He coallates data he’s collected from Dean with stories he’s read, and movies he’s watched.  He adds Dean’s reactions to the media they’ve shared.  It’s a lot of data, but the report still runs quickly.

And based on the results, he believes that Dean may be in love with him.

He doesn’t know what to do with this information.  And he’s still not sure if he is capable of returning Dean’s love.

Dean deserves to have his love reciprocated.

Castiel has to research the matter further.

He needs to talk to Sam.

***

A light knock on the door pulls Sam’s attention away from the news bulletins scrolling past too quickly to physically read.  He waves away the hologram, but keeps his software searching for hints of unsolved cases that might require a more thorough investigation.  

“Come in.”

Since Dean wouldn’t knock so politely, if at all, Sam isn’t surprised when Castiel pokes his head around the door.  “Hello, Sam.  Are you busy?”

Sam shifts against his pillows, adjusting his position so that his lower ribs ache less.  They’re healed, and all he has left is residual pain.  He could shut off the signal from the nerves to avoid it, but he’s learned from experience that if he doesn’t let himself feel the suffering at least partially, he can forget that he’s not invincible and end up with worse injuries.  “No, just resting.  What’s up?”

Castiel slips around the door and shuts it behind him.  He hovers near it instead of coming to sit at the foot of Sam’s bed like he usually does when he wants to visit.  His mechanical eyes settle on Sam, blue irises spinning slowly.  “How are you feeling?”

“Good as new,” Sam says, smiling.  

“You should let Gabriel know.  He’s been requesting updates on your health, and won’t ask you directly.”

Sam laughs, and shakes his head.  It doesn’t surprise him that Gabriel went to Castiel to check up on him.  “That’s because he doesn’t believe me when I say I’m fine.”

“He’s hacked your medical records and thinks you’re placating him.” Castiel frowns and ducks his head.  “He didn't want me to share that information with you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas, I already know.”

Castiel’s head comes up again, eyes wide.  “You do?”

Sam nods.  “He’s not as sneaky as he thinks he is, and if I really wanted to keep him out of those records, he wouldn’t even know they existed.”

This news obviously confuses Castiel.  The head-tilting and narrowing eyes are something purely Cas, a gesture that he doesn’t seem to have picked up from him or Dean.  It’s cute, and Sam kinda gets why Dean goes all googly eyed when it happens.  

He’s still reeling a little from Dean’s confession over breakfast.  It’d been hard to act like nothing had changed whenever he saw them around the bunker for the rest of the day, and he had to force himself not to stare whenever they exchanged lingering looks and touches.  Their behavior wasn’t anything new--they’ve been obnoxiously touchy-feely since they’d started having sex--but it feels new when viewed through the lens of updated knowledge.

Actually, the most annoying thing about watching them today is the fact that it’s _so obvious_ , and that Sam didn’t figure it out on his own.  

“Why not just tell him about your injuries directly?” Castiel asks, pulling Sam from his thoughts.

Huffing a laugh, Sam runs a hand through his hair.  It flops back down around his eyes, longer than he’d like, meaning it’s time for a trim.  “I used to, early in our relationship.  But it freaked him out, no matter how much I tried to reassure him that I was okay.  So I tried just not talking about it at all, and that only made him worse.  Letting him access the records, which include all the information about my healing progress, actually seems to be the best option.”

“But why set it up for him to hack, instead of just giving him the records?”

“He’s a sneaky bastard by nature.  If he finds the information by subterfuge, he’s going to think it’s more true than anything I tell him up front.”

“That seems very inefficient,” Castiel says.

Sam nods emphatically.  “Very.”

“But you provide him with what he needs to relieve his stress.”

“Yup.” Sam winks.  “Don’t tell him, though.  You’ll ruin our system.”

Castiel nods solemnly.  “I won’t.”

“Thanks, Cas.  And just to be clear, if I’m really in a life threatening situation, I definitely don’t want that kept a secret from him.  It’s just the regular stuff that we’re keeping on the down low.”

“I understand.” Castiel shifts his weight, and pins Sam with an intense stare.  More intense than his usual, since he doesn’t ever blink.  “You love him very much.”

Sam’s chest swells with emotion, and if he had a mirror he knows he’d see a completely love-drunk smile stretching his lips.  Even under Castiel’s non-judgemental scrutiny he has to duck his head to hide his expression.  “Yeah.  Yeah I do.”

From the corner of his vision, he catches movement and he glances up to see Castiel finally approaching the bed.  The mattress shifts under his weight when he sits, and again there’s something more focused about the way he’s staring at Sam now.  “What does it feel like?  To be in love?”

Sam blinks, completely caught off guard by the question.  “What?”

“What does it feel like to be in love?  Is it really like it’s described in books?”

Castiel has been living in the bunker with them for months now, and he’s picked up physical ticks, becoming more animated in his movements.  Some of them Sam recognizes as coming from himself or Dean, and others that he assumes Cas has gotten from movies or from interacting with humans when they go into the city.  But now he’s almost perfectly still, like all of his processing power is dedicated to listening to what Sam is going to say.

When he realizes his jaw is hanging open, Sam snaps it closed and swallows.  “Um.  Well, it’s a probably a little different for everyone.  But yeah, I guess it’s pretty close to the stuff you read about.”

Castiel’s body actually sags, and his inhuman eyes drop to his knees.  “Oh.”

Suspicion niggles at the back of Sam’s mind, and it’s almost too crazy to think about.  Artificial Intelligence-- _sentience--_ Sam can easily accept.  Even basic emotions.  Fear is just a programmed response to threats.  Castiel’s sense of humor, his curiosity, his kindness, they can all be explained by algorithms needed to perform pre-programmed interactions with the people he was built to serve.  

But something like love?  Maybe Castiel is programmed with a Boyfriend Experience, and whatever is broken in his coding that gave him sentience is using that as a template for romantic feelings as well.

It’s kind of mindblowing to think about.

“Cas… why do you want to know?” Sam asks.

Castiel lifts his head, and the smile he gives Sam is so obviously forced that he looks more inhuman than he ever has before.  “I enjoy romantic novels very much.  I am just curious about their accuracy.”

Okay that is definitely a lie.  Castiel is always painfully honest, often to Dean’s pain and Sam’s amusement.  And for a robot programmed to act out fantasies, he’s really bad at performing the roles they sometimes have to play while hunting.

Whatever knowledge Castiel is looking for is very important to him.

And if Sam’s suspicions are correct, whatever he teaches Castiel right now is also going to be important to Dean.

God, when did his world become a romance novel?

“There’s a lot more to love than what you probably get out of books and movies,” he says, and knows that he’s doing the right thing when mechanical eyes lock on Sam like he’s about to deliver divine revelation.  “They’re usually about the first heady rush.  The pounding hearts and sexual tension, that’s all real.”

Castiel’s hand comes up to rest on his chest, over the battery compartment where his power supply occupies the space a human heart would be.  Sam wonders if he’s thinking about the fact that he doesn’t have a heartbeat.

“But a lot of that is hormonal, and it fades after a little while.”  Mostly.  Sometimes he looks at Gabriel and he feels like he’s thrown back to the first heady days when the older man’s flirting had left him a blushing mess.  “You’ll still get flashes of it sometimes.  Your partner will say or do something that triggers it.

But most of the time it’s just something that’s always there.  You think about the person more than you think about anyone else.  You wonder if they’re comfortable.  If they’re healthy.” Sam smiles, thinking of how Gabriel has dragged Castiel into his subterfuge about his medical records.  “Even when you’re busy with something completely unrelated to them, you’ll suddenly wonder if they’ve eaten.  You’ll hear a song that makes you think about them.  Or you’ll get a really intense need to share whatever random thing you’re thinking about with them.”

Castiel’s expression shifts, and Sam thinks he’s nailed something for the android.

“And above all, you want them to be happy,” Sam continues.  “Making them smile makes you smile.  Making them laugh is one of the best feelings in the world.  Seeing them get excited makes you excited.  You want to do whatever you can to give them the things they need to live their best life.”

A smile twitches at the corner of Castiel’s lips.  “Like letting them think they’re going behind your back about something, even though you’d give it to them if they asked?”

Sam grins.  “Exactly like that.”

For a moment Castiel’s smile widens into one of his rare teeth-baring grins.  But then it fades, replaced with a worried frown.  “What if you can’t give them something they need?”

“It sucks pretty bad, to be honest,” Sam says.  “But you still try.  You do your best, and hope that it’s enough.”

Castiel is quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting off into middle space like it does when he’s paying attention to some inner function.  Sam waits him out, which is tough because he’s intensely curious about whatever Castiel is thinking of.  It’s a good thing he’s got so much practice with Dean.

“Is there anything like that between you and Gabriel?”

Sam nods.  “Sometimes.  The biggest thing is the hunting because Gabriel worries, but I’m not going to give it up.  Hunting is my life, and I love it.  Gabriel does what he can to help us with it, because anything that makes hunting easier makes it safer.”  Some of what Gabriel does is downright illegal, and Sam tries not to feel bad about him dipping his fingers back into things that probably connect with his secret past.  “And sometimes living apart kind of sucks, but I don’t want to live in the city, and he doesn’t want to live in the bunker.  Virtual reality mostly solves that problem.  If we lived in a pre-overnet world, it’d probably be a huge issue.  Thank goodness for modern conveniences, right?”

“Indeed.”  

Castiel goes thoughtful again, and Sam can’t help but marvel at Chuck’s creation, even if it was an accident.  There’s an old quote from a scientist that he only half remembers: _The simplest thought like the concept of the number one has an elaborate logical underpinning._  And Chuck made a consciousness that understands a whole lot more about the world than that.

And that consciousness might possibly be in love with Sam’s brother.

It’s rather awe inspiring.

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel says, directing his gaze at Sam again.  “For sharing all of that with me.”

“You’re welcome, Cas.  I hope it helps.”

“Yes.  You’ve given me quite a lot to think about.”  Castiel stands.  “I’ll let you get some more rest.”

Sam’s had more than enough rest since they got home.  But having the privacy to call up Gabriel and give him more reassurance that he’s really okay after the last few weeks of hunting will be nice.  Not that he’s going to actually say anything about it, because he’s going to keep up the act that he doesn’t know about Gabriel’s hacking.  Anyway, actions, even in virtual reality, speak louder than words.  And after this conversation with Castiel, Sam feels the need for a few reassurances of his own.  Just hanging out with Gabriel online sounds about perfect right now.

“Alright, thanks.”  

When Castiel is at the door, Sam decides he has one more thing to say.  “Hey, Cas?”

Castiel pauses in the open door and looks back, eyebrows raised in silent question.

“Good luck.  With whatever you’re trying to figure out.”

Castiel’s slow, shy smile causes Sam’s heart to ping around a little bit.  He definitely doesn’t feel anything romantic towards the android, but something a little closer to what he feels for Dean.  

Huh.  Imagine that.

After Castiel wishes him a goodnight and shuts the door behind him, Sam settles more comfortably on the bed, pulling the blanket out from under himself and burrito-ing up with it.  He sends out a call, and smiles in anticipation.

_“Samshine!  What’s shakin’ bacon?”_

Smile widening, Sam snuggles deeper into his pillow and enters VR mode.  His bedroom disappears, and when it reforms around him he’s in a different room, cuddled up on Gabriel’s giant bed.  “So you wanna hear some crazy news about Dean and Cas?”

For once, Gabriel’s avatar is wingless.  It’s just him, hair tousled, lounging against his own pillows.  Naked.  Of course.  His eyes light up with mischief and he scoots closer, throwing an arm and a leg over Sam’s virtual body.  “Do you really gotta ask?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “But the brain does much more than just recollect. It inter-compares, it synthesizes, it analyzes, it generates abstractions. The simplest thought like the concept of the number one has an elaborate logical underpinning. The brain has its own language for testing the structure and consistency of the world.”
> 
> ― Carl Sagan


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to talk about FEELINGS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I posted Chapter 25 the notification servers were borked, so you might want to check that you've read that one before this new chapter. Also, I wrote the second half of this drunk off my ass and can't be bothered to edit because I'm still pretty fuckered up ;D

It’s not unusual to wake up alone now that Castiel doesn’t sleep anymore, but Dean still rolls into the vacant side of the bed and buries his face in the cold pillow.  It only smells like linen and the fading sweetness of soap from the last time the pillow case was washed.  There’s none of the slight metallic undertone of Castiel’s skin, but Dean imagines it anyway as he inhales.

The pitch dark of the room begins to fade as the sunstrips begin to emulate sunrise, and Dean decides lounging around doesn’t sound like much fun if he’s going to do it alone.  With a grunt he rolls again, sitting up at the edge of the bed and stretching his arms over his head.  His spine and tendons pop softly, and he grunts in pleasure before bouncing to his feet.

The buoyancy spreads through his body, energizing him and lifting the corners of his mouth in a content smile.  He even catches himself humming as he pulls clean clothes on, and that makes him laugh at himself.  

It’s not like he’s a grump.  Well he can be, sometimes, although he fucking draws the line at ‘broody’, which Sam sometimes likes to throw at him.  He’s just not the kind of guy who farts birdsong and has rainbows dripping from his ears.  His neutral comes with a resting bitch face, but that doesn’t mean his mood is always grim.  But he _does_ idle in neutral most of the time, so this early morning perkiness is enough out of character, that even he notices the difference.

He has no idea what’s got him walking on sunshine, but he ain’t gonna complain.

When his stomach growls, he recalculates.  He’ll whine like a little bitch if there’s not coffee already brewing.

Mission set, he leaves his room.  A few feet down the hall he realizes there’s a literal bounce to his step, and he tries to tone it down.  It only works until he catches the scent of roasted beans and then he’s bopping along like gravity can’t hold him down.  

He finds his missing boyfriend in the kitchen, an apron tied over his favorite orange dress, standing at the sink washing dishes, staring into space the way he does when he’s reading something online.  Probably checking the recipe for whatever delicious thing he’s whipping up that’s making Dean’s mouth water from just the smell.  Cas has been on a search for hobbies since he came to live in the bunker, and cooking is his new one, and he’s pretty damn good at it.  He can do a whole helluva lot with the greenhouse crops, stuff that Dean and Sam never bothered to try.  Some of it’s so mouthwatering that Dean finds himself fantasizing about street vendors in the city less often.

Not that a good ratatouille will ever replace meat roasted fresh on sticks, or a cheesy burger dripping with grease.  But Dean can dodge Sam’s _proud of you for eating better_ looks and enjoy a more vegetarian diet if Cas keeps up with his recent obsession with cooking.  

“Hey, Cas, what’s the word?” Dean says cheerfully as he approaches the android.  The balloon in his chest gets a boost of helium when Castiel turns a beaming smile on him, and he in leans for a quick peck on the lips which turns into a few more deeper kisses.

“It’s a shortened version of my name,” Castiel says when Dean finally lets him speak.

There’s a minor record scratch filling Dean’s ears until he parses that Castiel answered his greeting like a serious question.  He’s about to explain the figure of speech when he notices Castiel’s lips twitch.  He rolls his eyes and leans in for another quick kiss.  “Smart ass.”

“Humor through wordplay is a sign of intelligence, yes,” Castiel says as he turns back to his breakfast project.  “But thank you for the compliment.”

Deciding it’s not worth getting the last word, because Cas _is_ pretty damn smart, _and_ has a nice ass, Dean snorts and props his chin on Castiel’s shoulder and checks out the skillet in the sink.  It’s already clean, leaving no clue about what’s in the oven.  “What’cha making?”

“I used the last of the eggs and cheese to make a quiche.  We should go on a supply run today.  There are a few crates of vegetables ready to trade with Ellen.”

“Mmmm, egg pie.”

Castiel chuckles, and Dean knows.  He just fucking _knows._  He’s head over heels for this guy.  

It’s something that’s been floating around in his head for a while.  Especially since he voiced the possibility to Sam a few weeks ago.  The words have been trying to fall out of his mouth since then, and honestly he’s not sure why he’s bothered to hold back.

Well he kinda knows.  At first he was worried about falling for a robot, but Sam’s reassurances got him over that hurdle.  Now it’s more an issue of whether Castiel would welcome it.  

Or if he’d even be able to reciprocate.

And just like that, his overly good mood plummets.  

He slips away from Castiel’s warmth and heads for the coffee pot.  He hisses when the first sip burns his tongue, but it’s still delicious, and he takes his prize to the table where he slumps on a stool and (broodily) watches his boyfriend finish cooking.

“We need coffee beans as well,” Castiel says as he pours himself a mug of water and joins Dean at the table.  “And what do you think about getting chickens?  You and Sam eat enough eggs to justify it, and there’s room in the greenhouse.”

They had a couple hens when Dean and Sam were kids, but when they died of old age, they never got any new ones.  Mostly due to laziness.  “You wanna take care of ‘em, you can knock yourself out.  No rooster though, we’d run out of space and they can’t survive outside the bunker.”

Castiel’s sunshine smile pulls one from Dean too.  As the android continues to chatter about what kind of supplies they need and what he’s gotten ready for trade, Dean barely pays attention.  His thoughts are still occupied with whether it’s possible for Castiel to love him.

He obviously acts like he’s capable of emotion.  When he’s happy he smiles and laughs, and actually has a pretty wicked sense of humor.  He gets angry and frustrated, and sometimes even scared.  So is there really any reason for him not to be capable of love, when everything other possible emotion is right there on his sleeve?

But that’s all programmed into him.  Is what basically amounts to an algorithm capable of affection?

Those thoughts are interrupted when Sam shuffles into the room, hair a wild nest and still in his pajamas.  Dean’s pretty sure his eyes are closed and he’s navigating to the coffee pot via digital mapping.  When Sam’s got his coffee and slumps down next to Castiel he grunts what might be a greeting and then buries his nose in the steam rising from his mug.

Dean shoves his worries away and focuses on teasing his brother.  Sam wakes up enough to snark back just in time for breakfast to finish cooking, and the quiche is so damn good that Dean can’t think about much else while he eats it.  

His worries return in full force after breakfast is done.  Sam abandons them to their own devices while he goes to the gym to work out because he’s a freak and actually likes working out.  And suddenly Dean is alone with Castiel again, and as he watches the android gather up their breakfast dishes he wonders how the hell he got here.

What kind of epic joke is being played on him that he’s fallen in love with a robot, and freaking out that his feelings aren’t returned?  It sounds like something out of a damn rom-com, and he did not sign up for this shit.

The sound of water pulls him from his thoughts, and a stab of guilt propels him out of his seat.  “Cas, you cooked, you don’t have to clean up.”

Castiel smiles when Dean joins him at the sink, but resists being hipchecked out of the way.  Instead he hands Dean a towel and then goes back to washing the dishes.  “You know I don’t mind.”

“ _I_ mind,” Dean grumbles, but he accepts a dripping plate and begins drying it.  “You’re not a maid.”

Castiel’s smile widens.  “I know.”

Dean snorts and falls back into his brooding--okay yes, fine, _sometimes_ he’s a brooder.  

***

Dean is acting strange.  

The signs are small.  There had been a little bit less enthusiasm than usual behind his teasing when Sam joined them for breakfast, and he’s been either staring at Castiel with a mild frown, or frowning even more deeply in any other direction.  It’s a marked difference from when he’d first come into the kitchen, light on his feet, all smiles and sweet kisses.

Castiel had seen the exact moment Dean’s good mood departed.  He could name every muscle that relaxed, and tell exactly which laugh lines disappeared with his bright smile.  But it would be more succinct, if far more fanciful, to say that a light went out behind his eyes.

It flickered back to life again while Sam was with them, but only at a fraction of its previous luminosity.  And it’s dimming again.

Something must be bothering him, but what could it be?  It isn’t the food; Dean’s mood had flipped before eating.  And Castiel is fairly certain that it wasn’t his suggestion of obtaining chickens, since he’d caught Dean’s downcast expression before bringing it up.  In fact it had been right after Dean had greeted Castiel with several kisses.  

Had Castiel done something wrong?  Should he have initiated more kisses?  Used his tongue instead of just his lips?  Would Dean have enjoyed it more if Castiel had turned to embrace him fully?

He doesn’t think that Dean was disappointed in the kissing, since they commonly share the short affectionate ones, and Dean often initiates them because he seems to enjoy them very much.  Maybe Dean wishes Castiel would more frequently take the lead.  

No, that can’t be it.  Castiel seeks Dean out just as much, for kisses, for company, and for sex.  And he knows that he leaves Dean satisfied, so certainly Dean shouldn’t be disappointed in that.

Although… well Dean says that the difference in the way they take pleasure from sex doesn’t bother him, and Castiel trusts him to be truthful about that.

So he has no idea what’s wrong, and if he wants to find out what’s bothering Dean, he’s going to have to ask.  And hope that Dean doesn’t clam up.

“Dean?” he says as he hands over the last dish and grabs another towel to dry his hands.  “Is there something wrong?”

The question makes Dean freeze, hands gripping the plate tight enough to whiten his knuckles.  “Um…”

If Castiel had any doubts that something was going on, they’d be cleared up by the panic that flashes across Dean’s expression.  Since he didn’t intend to make things worse, he rests his palm low on Dean’s back and rubs gentle circles.  “You don’t have to tell me.  But I want you to know that you can.”

Dean stares at him wide eyed, and his mouth works like it’s too dry to speak.  Castiel waits patiently, zooming in to catalogue the miniscule chips of gold and copper nearly hidden in the green of his irises.  

“It’s-it’s--” Dean huffs at his stuttering and drops his eyes to his hands.  His cheeks, and the tips of his ears flush bright pink.  “It’s kind of a big thing.”

Clearly.  “Did I do something wrong?”

Dean’s head snaps back up and he practically flings the plate into the sink--which thankfully doesn’t break--so that he can grab Castiel by the shoulders.  “No!  How could you think that?”

“Your mood seemed to drop shortly after you kissed me this morning,” Castiel reminds him.  “It is the most logical conclusion based on the available data.”

“Data.” Dean snorts and shakes his head.  “We still need to binge some Star Trek Next Gen.”

Their watch list has always been lengthy, and since Castiel has started spending time in the greenhouse, they go through it at a slower pace.  Again, Dean doesn’t seem to mind, but maybe Castiel has missed the signs that he’s unhappy.  “If you’d like, I can cut down on my time in the greenhouse and-”

“Don’t do that,” Dean sighs, interrupting him.  “You love hanging out in there.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees.  “But I love you as well, and will gladly hang out with you more if it will cheer you up.”

Dean goes so still that Castiel can see the faint flutter of his pulse at his temple.  The lock up is brief, and then his eyes widen and he sucks in a breath.  “You love me?”

He hadn’t intended to say anything until he understood more about love, but in this moment he knows that there can be no other way to define his feelings for Dean.  After his talk with Sam, he’d analyzed his reactions and behavior in relation to Dean, and everything Sam said applies.  He cares and he worries and he wants to make Dean smile.  He wants to fix whatever broke Dean’s happy mood.

“Yes I do,” he confirms.  He shuffles closer to Dean, slips his hands over his hips and pulls him close.  Which has the added benefit of Dean rearranging his arms to drape around Castiel’s shoulders.  Where their chests touch, his tactile sensors register the increased pace of Dean’s heart.  It’s a reaction he always enjoys soliciting from the human.  “I am sorry I haven’t said so before.”

Dean’s awed expression twists into a confused frown.  “Why are you sorry for that?”

Castiel’s attention is drawn to the dimples framing Dean’s mouth.  They are charming, even if they only come out when Dean is frowning.  The urge to kiss them away is strong, so he does, making Dean huff with amusement and turn away.

“Cas, I’m serious.  Why are you sorry?”

“Because I believe that knowing I return your feelings would make you happy, and I withheld the information from you.”

Dean’s eyes go wide again.  “M-my feelings?”

For thirteen nanoseconds Castiel doubts his earlier conclusions about Dean’s emotional attachment to him.  But he has far too much evidence supporting them.  “You love me.”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes several times before he sputters “how the fuck did you know that?”

“I’ve compiled a report.  Would you like me to send it to you?”

Again, Dean just stares at him.  And Castiel wonder if he’s done something wrong.  In the romance novels and movies there’s usually long periods of pining before the lovers confess their feelings.  Should he have waited longer, despite his newfound certainty?  

He’s calculating whether another apology is in order when Dean’s shock melts away under a wave of laughter.  His head tilts back, allowing Castiel to admire the column of his throat, and then Dean hugs Castiel tight, pushing his face against Castiel’s ear.

“You asshole,” Dean manages to choke out through his laughter.  “I can’t believe you told me I love you before I had a chance to.”  He straightens and grins at Castiel, the light behind his eyes  back tenfold.  “That’s so fuckin’ backwards.”

“I’m s--”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Dean says fiercely, arms tightening around Castiel’s shoulders again.  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t follow the correct protocol,” Castiel points out.  “I should have told you my feelings, and then allowed you to express your own on your time.  I’ve seen it play out in stories, and I didn’t do it right.”

“Fuck correct protocol.  I love that you did it your own way.” Dean laughs again.  “I love _you._ ”

And then he swoops forward to capture Castiel’s mouth with his own.  

They have shared many kisses since they became lovers, because it’s something Dean likes to do even when it doesn’t lead to sex.  Castiel has cataloged every single one.  The quick greeting kisses, and the passionate kisses that are all teeth and tongue and aggression. The frantic exchange of air when Dean is near orgasm and can’t focus on actually kissing but still needs to feel Castiel’s lips against his own.

This one is unlike any kiss they’ve shared before.  Tender and frantic at once, and a tremble rolls through Dean’s entire body.  A memory sector lights up in response, and he recalls a quote from one of Dean’s favorite movies - _“Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.”_

And then Dean is distracting him from that thought.  He dips slightly, without ending the kiss, tugging at the flowing skirt of Castiel’s dress.  Once he catches the hem, he slides his hands under the brightly colored fabric and runs his palms over Castiel’s thighs, circling around to cup his ass and massage the cheeks.  

Castiel’s body reacts, his breath becoming labored to keep his temperature optimal, and cock hardening in preparation.  He grinds against Dean’s hips and encourages him to explore further with a small sound deep in his throat.  Dean takes the invitation, slipping his fingers between Castiel’s cheeks and roughly rubbing over his hole.  Pressure sensors react to the touch, and Castiel’s body responds with a rush of slick lubricant.

“Never gonna get over how convenient that is,” Dean rumbles before pressing the tip of his middle finger inside Castiel’s body.  “Wanna fuck you, Cas.”

“Yes,” Castiel breathes against Dean’s mouth.  Because he wants it, and he wants Dean to _know_ that he wants it.

Dean responds by kissing him so deeply that Castiel wouldn’t be able to speak if he wanted to.  And then he pulls away and with a firm grip on Castiel’s hips, forces him to turn to face the counter.  The whole length of his body comes up against Castiel’s back and he uses his weight to push Castiel forward.  Not that Castiel puts up any resistance.  He bends forward easily, bracing on his forearms, and tilts his hips back to give Dean better access.

“God, I wanna be inside you so bad,” Dean murmurs.  He grinds his dick against Castiel’s ass, the soft jersey of his sleep pants hardly a barrier between them.  

“Do it.” Castiel twists until he can look up at Dean’s expression.  He’s been witness to that hooded look before, but he still adds a snapshot to his Dean-centric file.  “Wanna feel you.”

“ _Cas._ ”  Dean drapes himself over Castiel and kisses him again.

The angle isn’t very good, but Castiel knows Dean likes this position, both as top and bottom.  He stretches his neck and nips at Dean’s bottom lip, and is rewarded when Dean palms his throat and chin, adjusting the angle and sliding his tongue past Castiel’s teeth to explore deeper.  Dean begins to flex his hips, rolling them against Castiel’s ass, teasing himself with the friction.

Castiel is perfectly willing to let Dean drag this out, but there’s an urgency that he normally doesn’t experience filling him.  He wants-- _needs_ \--Dean to fuck him.  “Please,” he whispers into the tiny gap between their lips.

With a breathy curse, Dean breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far.  He reaches between them, pushing Castiel’s dress higher above his hips, then shoving his own pants out of the way.  And then he’s guiding the head of his cock to Castiel’s hole.  

He opens easily, wet and slick, welcoming Dean like he belongs there.

And he does.  He does.  Castiel knows that he wasn’t built for Dean, but in a way _he was._  Created with physical features Dean finds aesthetically pleasing, skills to break Dean down into a sweaty, gasping mess, and an operating system that allows him to _feel,_ to _love._

To love Dean.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

Dean obeys.  

His fingers dig deeply into Castiel’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises on a fragile human body.  Every time he drives forward he pulls Castiel’s hips hard against his own, until their skin slaps loudly against each other.  Every few thrusts he grinds deeper, rolling his hips.  And Castiel responds by bracing himself against the stone counter and pressing back.  He arches his spine to give Dean different angles and is rewarded with hissed cussing or deep groans.  

It’s hard and rough, and Castiel feels the urgency as Dean chases his release.  He cranes to watch Dean over his shoulder, studying the flush under his skin, and the way his eyelids droop over their burning green.  He records the way Dean’s bottom lip turns white between his teeth before blooming a brighter pink when he releases it.  

“Cas,” Dean says on a gasp.  “I’m close.”

“Come inside of me,” Castiel responds, because he enjoys the way Dean’s already wrecked countenance twists even further with pleasure.

“Want you to come with me,” Dean grunts.  “Want you to come on my cock.”

Castiel had been so enthralled by Dean’s pleasure that he’d forgotten to perform his own.  And the way Dean’s movements falter signify that he knows that Castiel forgot.  The fire in his eyes dims, but only briefly before it’s replaced with an even higher level of determination.  

“Touch yourself, Cas.”

It’s a command Castiel is eager to obey, even if not for the reasons Dean wants him to.  He shifts his weight to one elbow and brushes the soft fabric of his dress away so that he can grip his own cock.  

Seeing Castiel jack himself off triggers something in Dean.  He doubles his efforts, gasping and grunting, and whispering praise.  And when he finally loses himself to his pleasure, he curls forward, chest pressing Castiel harder against the counter.  

“Oh god... _Cas…”_

Dean’s movements stutter, and then with one final push and a rough exhale he buries himself deep.  His body twitches through his orgasm, and Castiel performs his own to give Dean the experience he’d requested.  Even though he doesn’t actually have any physical sensations connected to the orgasm, the algorithms that he has come to associate with his emotional responses go through thousands of permutations, and the outcome of every mathematical set feels like what Castiel has come to define as _love._

When Dean’s weight settles more heavily on him, Castiel is happy to support it.  He flexes his body, tiny movements that rock Dean against him just enough to keep him stimulated without overloading his senses.  Every sigh, every groan, gets added to his database to pull out and re-examine later at his leisure.  

Dean’s pleasure is always his own, even if Castiel doesn’t experience arousal and orgasm the way an organic creature would.  He still treasures every nanosecond of their lovemaking.

And it is definitely lovemaking.  Castiel has peeked at his partitioned memories, and nothing in those experiences compares to what he experiences with Dean.

If only he could make Dean understand that.  Maybe those tiny flashes of disappointment would disappear altogether.

“I love you,” Dean says against Castiel’s shoulder.  “I really really fucking love you.”

Castiel smiles against the cool stone counter top.  “I love you too, Dean.”

“Sorry, not the most romantic spot for this kind of thing,” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s shoulder.

“If I’m not allowed to apologize for confessing my love in less than conventional ways then you are not allowed to apologize for making love in less than conventional locations,” Castiel scolds softly.  

He’s pleased when Dean laughs.  

“Fair,” Dean sighs as he pushes himself upright.  His hands run up over Castiel’s back and hooks over his shoulders, tugging him until he stands as well.  The change of angle causes Dean’s dick to slip out of Castiel’s ass, and he hisses at the friction before wrapping his arms around Castiel’s chest and burying his face against Castiel’s neck.  He remains plastered so close that Castiel’s dress stays hitched up between them.

“Dean?” Castiel asks after a few moments of silence.  “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect, Cas.” He presses a kiss against the skin directly under his lips.

Nothing about their current situation correlates with any of the books Castiel has read, or the movies he’s seen.  Other than porn, but Castiel doesn’t believe those films should be considered for this context.  Without any experiences, his own or fictional, to draw from he is unsure to handle Dean’s quiet clinginess.  So he wraps his arms over Dean’s and leans his head against Dean’s and waits for him to make the next move or break the silence.

It takes just over a minute, and then Dean sucks in a deep breath and exhales it over Castiel’s neck and shoulder.  “We should probably make ourselves presentable in case Sam comes back.”

Castiel decides to adjust their positions, and turns, forcing Dean to loosen his grip.  But he doesn’t put any space between them, just settles himself so that they’re chest to chest again.  From this position he can watch Dean’s face, catalogue and compare his expressions, and gain clues on how best to navigate what he perceives to be a fragile moment.  

Dean appears to be sated and happy.  A soft smile graces his features, making him look young, if a little worn out by their activities.  But he still doesn’t speak.  He just watches Castiel as closely as Castiel usually watches him.

It’s a nice thing to be looked at so closely.  As if he’s as important to Dean, as Dean is to him.  

Dean’s smile widens.  “You know… I’ve never told anyone that I love them before.”

Smiling back is an automatic response.  “Neither have I.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes.  “Yeah okay, you got me there.”  His expression is fond when his gaze lands back on Castiel’s.  His hand comes up and he thumbs over Castiel’s cheekbone.  “Wanna join me for a shower?”

“I’d love to.”

***

When Dean is deeply asleep it’s difficult to slip out of his embrace.  He unconsciously tries to pull Castiel closer whenever he tries to move away.  But even though Castiel doesn’t need physical privacy for the call he needs to place, he doesn’t want to risk Dean waking and catching him on the overnet.  So he persists, gently pushing Dean’s limbs away until he rolls over onto his back and leaves Castiel free to get up.

Castiel pauses at the bed and watches Dean sleep for a few minutes.  It’s one of the things he likes best about having his standard power supply back.  He can spend hours watching Dean without getting caught and scolded for staring.

Not that Dean really seems to mind.  Or Castiel would definitely stop.

He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to look his fill on a theoretical level, but he does only have so much storage space.  So he saves a short clip of Dean’s soft breathing, and then leaves their shared bedroom.  The walk to his old bedroom is short, and he slips inside.  

Compared to Dean’s room, it’s nearly bare.  The bed is neatly made, and the chest of drawers is empty since he’d moved his clothes to Dean’s more than a month ago.  The only sign that anyone has spent any time in the room is the small stack of books that Castiel had been distracted into forgetting to retrieve in his move.  There’s one in particular that he wants to look at even though he has every word and image from its pages stored in his drives.

It’s on top of the stack, and Castiel sits down on the bed while he flips through the pages.  He stops on a page with an illustration of a ratty bunny plushie propped against the curved runner of a well used rocking horse, and reads the words printed next to it.

_“‘Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'”_

“But is he real enough?” Castiel asks no one in particular.

It’s late, so his call probably won’t be answered, but he tries anyway.

Jimmy’s voice is mildly slurred when he answers, and his projected image is graced with sleep tousled hair and a visually soft t-shirt with a band logo printed across the chest.  “Castiel?  What’s up, is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Castiel says.  “It’s not an emergency… but it feels important.”

Jimmy rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and sits up further.  “It’s no problem, dude.  I told you to call me any time you needed me, and I meant it.”

Castiel smiles.  In the months since he’d met Jimmy and Chuck they’d both been incredibly involved in his life, often reaching out to him to see how he’s doing.  Especially when they found out that he hunts mutants and other such monsters with the Winchesters.  

That had been an accident.  In a distracted moment during a fight, Castiel had allowed their incoming call to auto connect and they’d been witness to a frantic knife fight that Castiel and Sam had been deeply involved in with a wendigo that had been snatching homeless people from the city’s lower levels.  Afterwards Castiel had explained, and within days the same android that delivered Castiel’s still unused new set of eyes and new power supply had brought them more supplies, upgrades to Dean and Sam’s biotech that they wouldn’t even find on the black market, or could never afford.

Dean still jokingly calls them Castiel’s dads, but they seem to have adopted the title wholeheartedly.  It’s nice to know he has family outside the Winchesters.

“Thank you, Jimmy” Castiel says with full sincerity.  

Jimmy smiles, and looks a little more awake.  “What do you need, Cas?”

“I was wondering if it would be possible to upgrade my chassis.”

That perks Jimmy up even more.  “What kind of upgrades are you looking for?”

“Can you give me the ability to feel?  Like a human does?”

“You mean in the tactile sense?” Jimmy asks.

“Yes.” Castiel says.  “But specifically, I’m hoping to feel sexual pleasure.”

Jimmy’s eyes go wide, and his jaw sags.  Then he laughs, and there’s a hysterical edge to it.  He rubs a palm over his eyes and shakes his head.  “I don’t… I don’t know, Cas.  I mean I can give you more sensors if you need them, that’s just a hardware thing.  But for you to interpret those signals as pleasurable?  That’s outside my wheelhouse.”  He twists on the bed and reaches behind him.  “Chuck?  Babe, wake up.”

There’s a grumble, and the hologram displaying Jimmy expands to show a lump moving under the comforter next to him.  It takes a little more coaxing, but eventually Chuck sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Castiel notices his t-shirt matches Jimmy’s, and he smiles.

Chuck doesn’t look completely awake while Jimmy explains what’s going on, but he turns his sleepy eyes on Castiel after Jimmy is done.  He shakes his head, and Castiel’s error log lights up.  “No, I don’t think I can do that.  I know how to create sentience, but that doesn't necessarily mean I know how you ended up with algorithms that act as emotions, since that wasn’t my intention when I created your program.”

“I see.” Castiel sighs, and drops his gaze to his hands.  When he uses them on Dean he can feel heat and pressure, and he enjoys Dean’s reaction to every touch, but he doesn’t feel pleasure at the _sensations._  And that’s something he’d very much like to do for Dean, if not for the sake of his own experiences.  “Well, thank you for taking the time to talk to me tonight.  I’m sorry I disturbed you, but I’ll let you get back to sleep now.”

“Cas, wait,” Chuck says quickly, and he both sounds and appears more alert when Castiel looks up at him again.  “There _is_ something we can do for you.”

“Hun, that’s not exactly legal,” Jimmy says softly.

“Didn’t stop me the first time,” Chuck responds just as quietly.

They share a long look, and Castiel doesn’t know if they’re communicating on a private channel or just through eye contact.  But eventually Jimmy nods, and Chuck smiles, and Castiel knows that a decision has been made.

“We can’t talk about it like this,” Chuck says when he turns his attention back to Castiel.  “Can you come for a visit?”

If it means that he can get an upgrade that will help him connect more fully with Dean, then Castiel will walk to their home if he needs to.  “Yes, of course.”

“Great,” Chuck says, and his smile is kind.  “See you soon, then.”

They exchange well wishes and Castiel connects.  He looks back down at the book in his hands.  The pages are slightly tattered at the corners, damage that Castiel is very careful not to make worse.  It has been well loved in the past, and since it is one of his favorite books, revisited time and again, he takes care to keep it in its best condition.

He closes it gently and sets it back on top of the stack of books, before he scoops up the pile and leaves the room.  Castiel wants to return straight to Dean, but he detours to the library and puts away all of the books in their correct places on the shelves.

But he brings the well loved children’s book back to Dean’s room and stores it in the drawer of the bedside table.  Then he rejoins Dean in the bed, smiling when Dean wraps tightly around him once again.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel finds out what upgrade options are available.

The garage is a familiar space since it also houses Dean’s workshop, which Castiel has spent quite a lot of time in, but it’s not a place he visits on his own at all.  Without Dean’s presence it feels spacious and empty, and Castiel’s footsteps echo softly without the low hum of machinery and electronics to drown the sound.  Only the light of motion sensing sunstrips illuminate the area, giving it the impression of abandonment.

As Castiel passes Dean’s workbench, a small motor whirs and a helper bot lifts its head to point its sensors at Castiel.  When he merely pats it gently and then moves past it, the head settles back down and it goes back into power save mode.  He wonders if Dean’s stories about Sam wanting a pet as a kid are a smoke screen to hide the fact that he probably wanted one for himself.  It would explain the dog-like behavior he’s programmed most of his bots with.

The question is filed away for later consideration, and he makes his way toward the more open end of the garage where several vehicles are parked neatly in their spaces.  Several of them are covered with dust cloths to protect the antiques, but the car Dean uses for trips into the city remains uncovered, and it’s his goal.

As he’s seen Dean do every time they are about to enter the car he runs his hand over the glossy black paint.  It feels almost liquid smooth, but he has no reaction to the sensation other than curiosity as to why it always makes Dean smile.  He squints at his reflection in the tinted windows and wonders if Chuck’s mysterious upgrades will give him the ability to understand why Dean finds pleasure in the act of petting an inanimate object.

That would be Castiel’s ideal outcome.  

He “hopes”.  And that gives him the resolution to slip his fingers under the door’s handle to pull it open.

The door stays firmly closed.

“It’s keyed to Dean.  It’ll only open or start for him unless he gives you access to it.”

Castiel lifts his head and looks over the hood of Dean’s car to see Sam standing at the top of the short series of stairs leading back into the rest of the bunker.  He had been so absorbed in the sensory data from touching the car that he hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone in the garage anymore.  “Hello, Sam.”

Sam’s lips thin into something close to a smile, but there’s a shadow of suspicion in his eyes.  “Do you need something from the city?”

Lying to Sam is the solution to the current situation offered by Castiel’s threat assessment algorithms.  He immediately dismisses it because Sam isn’t a threat, despite the warnings popping up in his log.  It would have been better if he could have avoided detection, but other than Castiel’s own uncertainty over what his meeting with Chuck will hold, there’s no reason to keep what he’s doing from Sam.  Or Dean, for that matter.  But Castiel would rather wait to discuss it with him until he has more information to offer than just the possibility of an upgrade.

“Not from the city, no,” Castiel says.  “I want to visit Chuck and Jimmy.”

“By yourself?” Sam’s expression is now one of surprise.

“Yes.  Is that not alright?” Castiel sifts through his logs.  “I don’t recall having been restricted to only leaving with you or Dean.”

“No, you’re not restricted.”  Sam comes further into the garage and approaches Castiel, supposedly so that they don’t have to call to each other from across the large space.  “I guess it just never occurred to me that you’d want to.  Sorry.”

The rate of warnings in Castiel’s log slows.  

“You don’t know how how to drive though.  It might be better to wait until one of us can give you some lessons.” Sam grins.  “Actually, it’ll probably be Dean.  He really got a kick out of teaching me when we were kids, and I’ll bet he’d love teaching you too.”

That sounds like something Castiel would enjoy a well.  It’s tempting to march right back into the bunker and ask Dean for lessons now.  But that would only delay his trip, and he still isn’t ready to talk to Dean about why he needs to drive anyway.  “I downloaded a driving stim,” Castiel says instead.  “I should be fine.”

A frown creases Sam’s features again, but this time it’s the one that indicates he’s worried about something.  “Stims are helpful, but it’s not quite the same as applying the knowledge.”

“Nearly every skill I have is a stim,” Castiel reminds him.  Now that he has full access to his old data, he knows that he’s had many updates that include new stims for different sexual scenarios.  “I'm designed to implement them whenever my operating system is updated.”

That makes Sam laugh.  “Yeah I guess I should have known that.”  He sobers slightly and gives Castiel a thoughtful look.  “So why would you rather use a driving stim than ask Dean to teach you?  What are you trying to hide from him?”

The probability that Sam would deduce that Castiel isn’t being forthright has always been high, so Castiel experiences no surprise at his question.  It’s why he’d hoped to leave before either brother caught him.  But now that he’s being confronted, he decides that honesty is the best policy, especially with Sam.  He’s earned the younger Winchester’s trust, but he doesn’t want to do anything to make Sam change his mind.  Their friendship is new, fragile, and Castiel values it too highly to risk it with unnecessary lies.

“Chuck says he may be able to upgrade me so that I can feel pleasure from sex,” Castiel says, observing how Sam’s eyes widen in shock.  “I worry that changes to my software may affect my sentience, but Dean can be…” he pauses and scans his dictionary for terminology that will not illuminate Dean poorly.

Sam’s lips twist wryly.  “Overprotective as fuck?”

Castiel abandons his search, and shrugs.  “Yes.  Essentially.”

Sam huffs, almost a laugh.  But his amusement quickly dissipates.  “So you can’t feel it when you’re having sex?”  

“To clarify,” Castiel says, “I have sensors that provide me data of physical sensations.  But I do not connect the data with physical pleasure.”

A blush creeps up Sam’s cheeks, and he shifts his weight.  “So, uh… you’re not getting anything out of the sex?”

He’s clearly embarrassed by the topic, but concerned enough to ask anyway.  Castiel smiles at this confirmation that Sam cares about him.  “I enjoy what I do with Dean.  Just not physically.  It is the intimacy that I enjoy, as well as giving Dean the pleasure I do not feel.  When he is exhausted and oversensitized and-”

“Okay okay okay!” Sam throws up his palms in a staying gesture.  “I do _not_ want details, thank you.”  He grimaces and wipes a hand over his face before dropping both hands back to his sides.  His mouth stays twisted like he’s sucking on something sour.  “That’s probably going to be a pretty invasive upgrade, huh?”

“I believe so.” Despite wanting to tell Sam the full truth, he holds back the information that what Chuck has in mind is not legal.  He’ll save that information for when he knows more, and whether he’s willing to try the upgrade or not.  “I planned to tell Dean about it after I have more details.”

It’s honest enough for now.

Sam’s whole body seems to deflate when he sighs.  “Yeah, you’re probably better off waiting.  Are you sure you want to go alone though?  You trust them enough?”

Castiel ponders the question.  It’s reasonable, and one he’s asked himself already, so he has a ready answer.  But for Sam’s peace of mind, he runs one more analysis.  It comes back with the same result.  “Yes, I do.”

“Okay then.” Sam straightens, and his eyes unfocus.  The biocircuitry at his temples flicker briefly and then he’s focusing on Castiel again.  “Try the car door again.”

Castiel turns his attention to the car, and this time it opens easily.  He sends Sam a questioning look.

“You’ve got about five minutes to get out of here before Dean notices.”  Sam bares his teeth in a conspiratorial smile.  “Better hurry.”

“Thank you, Sam.”  Castiel doesn’t waste another millisecond.  He swings himself into the driver seat and pushes the power button behind the steering wheel.  A holographic display pops up in his vision, and he chooses manual drive.

“Wait, Cas.” Sam leans down, bracing a hand on the car door so Castiel can’t swing it shut.  “Take the tunnels, they’re safer.  I can get you access.”

“Jimmy already gave me a pre-paid pass.”  He sends a copy of the digital key to Sam.  “It’s good for a year.”

“Handy,” Sam says with a smile.  He responds to the tunnel pass with another packet of data.  Another driving stim.  “Install that one.  It’s more comprehensive than the public stims.”

Castiel accepts the file and runs the executable.  In addition to basic driving, his databanks fill with defensive skills to avoid accidents, as well as maneuvers he can’t imagine he’ll ever use.

“It’s a stunt driver stim,” Sam says.  

Castiel smiles.  “Handy.”

Sam grins back and raps his knuckles against the roof of the car.  “Good luck, man.  And if you need anything, you call, got it?”

The knowledge that Dean’s not the only one who worries about him is reassuring.  “I will.  Thank you, Sam.”

“Get out of here.  You’ve got just over 2 minutes now.  I’ll do what I can to cover for you.”

Castiel nods, and Sam closes the door for him.  He turns his attention to the car’s controls and puts both hands on the wheel and feels out the foot controls.  They shouldn’t be necessary for most of the drive since the car will be able to self drive for much of the distance, but he decides it would be best to apply the driving stims sooner rather than later, to make sure there aren’t any gaps in his understanding.

By the time he’s guided the car out of the long tunnel exit from the bunker, he’s already receiving a call from Dean.  He leaves it unanswered and turns the nose of the car toward the city where he can access the intercity tunnels.  

Dean switches to text messaging.   _Cas, get your ass back here right now._

Castiel doesn’t respond.  After less than five minutes Dean messages again.   _I can just turn the car around if you won’t._

The car doesn’t pull itself out of Castiel’s control.  Another message comes through, but it’s from Sam.   _Don’t worry, I’ve locked him out of the controls._

More messages come from Dean, but Castiel shunts them off to a read later folder.  The weather stays clear, the wind mild with only the occasional dust devil chasing him along.  And soon he’s entering the tunnels that will take him across several hundred miles of wasteland.

***

“Hey, Cas,” Jimmy says brightly when he answers the door.  He steps back in silent invitation.  “How was the drive?”

“Uneventful,” Castiel says as he steps inside.  He hasn’t been back to the hidden house since the first time, but it hasn’t changed over the last few months.  “Mildly boring.”

Jimmy winces.  “Sorry about that.”

“It was better when it occurred to me to access a book, while the car was in auto drive.”  Castiel follows Jimmy further into the house, toward the room where Chuck had confirmed his sentience.

Jimmy laughs, but it sounds off.  Nervous.  “Yeah, road trips are much better with a good book.”

Castiel is trying to determine whether he should ask Jimmy if he’s alright when they enter the den, and he’s distracted by the presence of Chuck.  And a beautiful dark haired woman sitting at his side on the couch.  

“Hey, you made it!” Chuck sounds nervous too, but he hops up from his seat and leans in to give Castiel a hug.  “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

He leads Castiel closer to the couch.  The woman looks him up and down, and her expression says she isn’t impressed by what she’s seeing.  

Instead of waiting for them, she stands and closes the last few feet of space.  She stands close, probably too close from what Castiel understand of Dean’s explanation about personal space bubbles.  And she reaches up to cup Castiel’s chin, turning his face back and forth.  “Another Jimmy, I see.  I’ll never understand what you see in him.”

“Amara be nice,” Chuck admonishes softly.

A sneer twists her lips, but she drops her hand from Castiel’s face and steps back.  

Jimmy sighs and flops down on the recliner across from the couch.  “Don’t worry, sister, the feeling’s still mutual.”

“Oh my god, why is this my life?” Chuck rolls his eyes toward the ceiling as he murmurs the inquiry under his breath.  Louder he says “Castiel, this is Amara.  She’s my… my sister.”

“Sort of,” she adds.  

“Sort of,” Chuck agrees.  “And I wanted you to meet her so that you can understand the upgrade I’m going to suggest.”

Castiel turns to Amara and zooms in.  She looks fully human, but so does he under close scrutiny.  “Are you an android?”

“Not exactly, Blue Eyes.” She settles gracefully back on the couch, and the smile she gives him is sharp.

“She’s biologically human,” Chuck says.  His hand rests softly on Castiel’s shoulder.  “But she started out as the artificial intelligence known as Luna.”

Castiel’s gaze swings from the smirking woman to Chuck’s face.  His creator’s eyes are wide and worried, and completely earnest.  “The moon base AI?”

“Literally in the flesh.” Amara spreads her arms wide and wiggles her fingers.

Chuck makes a nervous sound that might be a laugh.  “Maybe you should sit down, Cas, and I’ll explain.”

With his proper power supply Castiel doesn’t feel fatigue, and he could stand in one spot for days, if not months at a time.  His stance would never wobble.

But suddenly he feels very much like he needs to sit down.

***

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Fuck off.”

Sam responds with a raised eyebrow, and an _I rest my case_ smirk, that Dean wants to crush  under his knuckles.  But that _would_ be unreasonable since Sam isn’t telling Dean anything he doesn’t already know.  But knowing he’s overreacting doesn’t actually help him put the brakes on the panic parade.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he mutters instead.  Louder he says “one of us should have gone with him.”

They’ve rehashed this argument so many times since Castiel left that Dean could almost recite Sam’s lines with him.

“He wanted to go alone.”

Yup, word for word.

“And you’re the one who’s always insisted that he’s his own person, able to make his own decisions-”

The rest of Sam’s lecture is just a bunch of _blah blah blablablah_ , that Dean tunes out.  Instead he turns his attention back to his car’s GPS, tracking its progress home.  He’s been on edge since he got notification it was leaving the bunker, and when it disappeared behind Chuck and Jimmy’s private security dome, he’d done his best to avoid Sam so he wouldn’t lash out.  The hours Castiel spent off the grid were some of the worst he’s experienced.  Up there with times he’d lost track of Sam during hunts, or the days before he’d discovered the death of his parents.

If he’d had any doubt that Castiel is family, it would be long gone by now.  Burned away by stress hormones.

He’s glad he’d been alone when the GPS pinged that the car was back online, and Cas had finally responded to his messages saying that he was on his way back.  The relief of knowing that Castiel wasn’t being reprogrammed or dismantled…

Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean tries to banish the new fear that he was still right, and the car is coming back without the real Castiel.  That Chuck broke his operating system and sent him back different.

“Jesus I’m freaking out,” he breathes, too quiet for Sam to hear without his enhancements activated.

Turning his attention inward he watches the last approach of the arrow on the map indicating Castiel’s location.  The bunker’s security system registers the opening of the doors leading into the entrance tunnel, and soon Dean can hear the hum of tires on asphalt.  He faces the tunnel and watches the car roll slowly into the garage, and into its place next to his antique Impala.

He’s beside the car and jerking the door open before its engine is even stopped.  Castiel doesn’t look surprised, and doesn’t resist when Dean reaches in and hauls him out of the vehicle and into his arms.

“You goddamn reckless son of a bitch,” Dean growls against Castiel’s ear.  

Arms come around his waist, pulling him even closer.  “Hello, Dean.”

Dean holds on tightly, substituting Castiel’s body for his self control.  As soon as he lets go physically he’s probably going to be a complete asshole, but maybe if he just gives himself a few minutes to calm down first he won’t do or say anything completely insane.

“Welcome back, Cas,” Sam says from behind him.  “How was the drive?”

“Uneventful.” Castiel doesn’t loosen his grip on Dean while he addresses Sam.  “I didn’t need the extra features of that driving stim.”

“Still better to be prepared,” Sam says on a laugh.  “Glad you made it back in one piece, either way.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a few beats of silence, and Dean realizes they’re both waiting for him to do or say something.  He finally loosens his grip, moving it to Castiel’s shoulders and pushing him back at arm’s length, and runs his eyes over the android.  There don’t appear to be any physical differences, but that’s not reassuring in the least.  “What did they do to you?”

Castiel reaches up and gently removes Dean’s hands from his shoulders, but keeps them cupped between his own.  “Sam told you why I was going?”

“Not everything,” Sam said.  “I figured it was best for you to do it.  But I had to tell him something or he was going to drive me up the damn wall.  And I figured you’d prefer he know a little bit rather than coming home to find him buried under the bushes in the greenhouse.”

“What the hell kind of upgrades do you need, Cas?” Dean demands.  “And why the hell couldn’t you tell me before you left?  And why go alone, for fuck’s sake?”

Instead of answer, Castiel looks to Sam.  “May we have some privacy?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Sam’s shoulders tense, and his voice is laced with uncertainty for the first time since Castiel’d disappeared the day before. “Sure, I guess.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

The big moose lumbers away, but sends a private message to Dean.   _Don’t give him too hard of a time.  He’s doing this for you._

Dean snorts and casts an annoyed side eye at his brother for being a cryptic asshole.  

“Can we sit?”

Fuck, that’s never a good way to start a conversation.  Dean wants to hold his ground and demand an immediate explanation, but he doesn’t actually want to be a jerk.  Other than going for a solo road trip Cas hasn’t actually done anything to earn his ire.  So he reins in his bullheadedness and nods agreement, not sure if he can trust himself not to start yelling.

They don’t go farther than corner of the garage dedicated to Dean’s workshop.  Castiel nudges Dean toward the only chair, but Dean shakes his head and leverages himself up to sit on the work bench instead.  Instead of sitting in the chair himself, Castiel comes to stand between Dean’s knees.  His hands are human-warm when they rest on Dean’s thighs, and the simple touch calms Dean further.

Castiel smiles up him like he’s proud, and Dean flushes under his gaze.  Has he really been such a dickbag that sitting down when Castiel asks him to is a positive thing?

“I missed you, Dean.”

More tension leaks from Dean’s shoulders at the admission.  “I could have gone with you.”

Castiel’s palms rub soothing patterns on Dean’s thighs.  “I’d like you to go with me next time.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up.  “There’s going to be a next time?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s irises rotate slowly, zooming in like he does when he’s paying extra close attention to Dean’s reactions.  “I want you to be there with me when I am upgraded.”

At first Dean’s relieved to learn that Castiel hasn’t been poked at yet.  Then all the tension comes back, and Dean’s jaw aches when he speaks through his teeth.  “What upgrade?  You’re fine the way you are.”

Castiel’s smile turns soft, affectionate, and Dean’s heart flutters in response.  “I asked Chuck if there is an upgrade that would allow me to feel pleasure when you touch me.”

“Cas you don’t have to-”  He’s cut off when Castiel cups a palm over his mouth, and he has to resist the childish urge to lick his hand in retaliation.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

Dean’s voice is muffled under the palm over his mouth, but he tries anyway.   _“Cas.”_

“And when I first contacted Chuck and Jimmy about this upgrade, I was thinking of you,” Castiel continues.  “But now that I know what the upgrade entails, I want to do this for _me._ ”

Ah hell.  It’s easy to deny his own wants and needs for Castiel’s sake, but he’s always been a sucker for giving Cas the freedom to make his own decisions.  But the fact that Castiel has been so secretive about all of this, and sent Sam away, and is treating Dean like he might blow up any second is unnerving the fuck out of him.  He reaches up and tugs Castiel’s hand away from his mouth.  “What’s the upgrade, Cas?”

Castiel’s irises spin again, tightening the pupil to a black point in the center.  “They’re going to grow me a biological body.”

Dean’s heart hiccups, and his nanites rush to restore its normal steady beat.  “I’m sorry,” he says slowly, “did you just say they’re going to grow you a biological body?”  


His hand is still wrapped around Castiel’s wrist, and he doesn’t realize he’s squeezing until Castiel cups his free hand over Deans.  “Angel Industries grows replacement organs and limbs from cloned DNA.  They’re going to use Jimmy’s DNA to create a complete body for me.”

Dean stares.

Stares some more.

Wonders if this is what a computer feels like when it’s locked up.

“Dean?”

Functionality comes rushing back.  “Are you fucking _kidding me_?  Full body cloning is hella illegal,” he snaps.  “And not even possible!”

“It is though,” Castiel says.

“Bullshit!” Dean slides off the bench, chest bumping Castiel back a few steps.  “A cloned body won’t work without a brain, and no one has ever figured out how to make the gray matter actually work without making an actual person with it.”  

Not a full brain anyway.  At most, small bits can be grown to replace damaged parts of an existing brain.  Like old liver transplants, before cloning tech advanced enough to grow a whole one from scratch.  But even those small bits of replacement don’t work very well.  They take years to integrate into the whole, so a person is able to actually use them.  And as far as he knows, not even a transplant with an existing brain will work, but Castiel doesn’t have one of those anyway.

Castiel shakes his head.  “I understand the complications, I researched it on the way home.  As well as the information on how Angel Industries figured out how to make it work.”

“They’re lying.” They have to be.

“They’re not.”

Dean grabs at his hair and grinds his teeth.  Castiel is naive sometimes, but Dean didn’t expect him to be so fucking gullible.  “Cas-”

“Would it make you feel better to know that they’ve already done it?”

The steam goes out of Dean’s engine.  “What?”

An invitation for a group link hits Dean’s neural net, and when he sees it’s initiated by Castiel he accepts.  When the call connects, a holographic image of Chuck appears in the workshop with them.  

“Hey, Cas.  Hi, Dean.” Chuck waves awkwardly.  “I’m guessing you’ve got some questions, huh?  I told Cas you probably would.”

“Yeah I have fucking questions,” Dean bites out.  “Starting with _how_?”

“Really small lasers,” Chuck answers simply, which is completely unhelpful and makes Dean itch to punch him for being vague.  “I mean, it’s more complicated than that, but I’m not the one who designed the technology.  It was designed by the Lunar AI.  She wanted her own body, and she figured out how to program a grown brain.  And she was able to successfully transfer her consciousness into a biological body.”

Dean blinks.  “An AI designed a body and a brain for itself?”

“Her name is Amara,” Castiel adds.  

Dean transfers his stare to his boyfriend.  “What?”

“You can meet her,” Chuck says.  “She’ll be there for the procedure.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.  His brain is buzzing about all the ways this new technology could go wrong.  What kind of creatures is Angel Industries pumping out that Dean’s going to need to track down later?

And underneath that, there’s the even greater fear that Castiel might turn out to be one of those creatures.

“How many times have you done this?” Dean asks.

“Amara is the only one.  Full body cloning is illegal, and brain replacement is _very_ illegal.” Chuck smiles weakly.  “But it’s not like I’m not already wanted for war crimes.  What’s one body for the AI I created?  Two, I guess, now that Castiel has decided he wants one.”

“And you’re just sitting on this tech instead of selling it on the black market?” Dean scoffs.  “I find that a little tough to swallow, buddy.”

Chuck’s expression firms into a disapproving frown.  “I’m not Dick Roman.  And the only one who has access to knowledge of the full process is Amara, so I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to.”

“And you trust her?  She was a _war AI._ ”

“Who decided on her own that she didn’t want to be,” Chuck points out.  

God dammit, that’s reasonable.  

“Dean,” Castiel says softly, drawing Dean’s attention back to him.  “Please, I want to do this.”

“If this is just about sex, Cas, you’re perfect the way you are,” Dean says just as quietly.  “You’re perfect _for me_.”

Castiel’s smile is as gentle as the hand he cups against Dean’s cheek.  “When I started questioning whether I could be upgraded, it was for you.  But now it’s for me.”  His thumb brushes under Dean’s eye, and then down to his lips.  His eyes drop to Dean’s mouth and he watches as he rubs the pad of his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip.  “I want to know how it feels to kiss you.  Let me do this for _me._ ”

Exhaling against Castiel’s thumb, Dean relents.  He reaches up and catches Castiel’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and holding it against his heart.  “Cas, you know it’s not about ‘letting’ you do things.  You make your own choices.  I’m just being a dick because I’m worried.”

“You’re not being a dick.” Castiel’s slightly crooked smile says otherwise, and Dean’s heart warms at the sight.

Dean rolls his eyes anyway.  “Right, whatever.”  He turns to Chuck who is casually looking away as if he’s not listening to them being schmoopy bastards.  “So how’s this going to work?”

“It’ll take some time,” Chuck says.  “But we’ll get started tomorrow-”

A voice in the background lets out an excited whoop and the hologram shifts to include Jimmy.  “Fuck tomorrow, I’ll go into the lab tonight and get started!”  He waves ‘into the camera’.  “Hi Dean.  Glad you’re on board.”

Dean groans.  “Just barely, man.  Just barely.”

“It’s enough,” Castiel says, just for him.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transformation begins.

“Sometimes the old sci-fi set designers got shit right.”

Castiel turns his attention from the wall of screens lit up with data and looks over his shoulder at the tank taking up a large portion of the other half of the lab.  A soft blue white glow emanates from the cloudy liquid inside, illuminating Dean’s profile but washing out any sign of his freckles unless Castiel zooms in on them.  “How do you mean?” he asks.

Dean waves a hand around at the tank and the tubes and cords attached to it that lead into banks of equipment hidden behind it.  “Hundreds of years ago they’d try to imagine what the future would look like.  Sometimes they’d go with everything in white and silver without a hint that dust even exists in the world anymore, or they’d go with dark and creepy and probably a fire hazard.”  He finally turns to Castiel and smiles weakly.  “Kinda like this place.”

The room isn’t exactly dark, since it’s lit by the tank and the wall of screens.  But with the overhead lights off, Castiel can see how it might give off a “creepy” feeling.  He’s watched a few of those movies with Dean, more interested in the human’s laughter over how badly people of the past predicted their future than the actual content of the show in many cases.  Especially flying cars.  That always makes Dean cackle because even if the tech worked, _“who the fuck would trust any Joe Schmoe to drive a hover car, huh?”_

“We could always turn on the overhead lights,” Castiel suggests.  

Dean snorts and taps his fingers on the tank’s glass.  The cloudy liquid swirls a little near the source of the vibration.  “Not sure how much it would help.”

There’s something in Dean’s voice that Castiel doesn’t understand.  He abandons his examination of the progress data on the screens and joins Dean at the tank, standing close enough for their shoulders to touch.  “What are you thinking about, Dean?”

For nearly a minute Dean stares intently into the tank without answering.  And then he leans into Castiel and links their pinkies together.  “Are you scared at all?”

Castiel turns his regard from Dean’s deliberately still profile to the tiny dark smudge in the center of the tank that’s the beginning of his new life.  The previous day he’d seen nothing in the tank but the cloudy water, but after Amara started the printing process it took only hours to notice the change.  He wishes he could watch the entire procedure, but soon he’ll become part of it and he won’t be able to observe from the outside.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.  He looks back up at Dean.  “But you are, aren’t you.”

He’d know the truth of his words simply from Dean’s small intake of breath, but there are other signs.  The stiffening of his shoulders, and his refusal to make eye contact.  

Castiel brushes their knuckles together, and smiles when Dean’s fingers snatch at his and hold them tight.  He squeezes back.  “If the procedure fails, we’ll have lost nothing.”

“I’m not worried about it failing,” Dean murmurs.  “It obviously works.  I mean, Amara…” he trails off with a soft chuckle.  “She’s part of what makes this place so creepy, and she’s not even here.”

“Is it because she keeps coming on to you?” Castiel asks.  He doesn’t know if he has a jealousy protocol, but it would have had barely any time to boot up with how quickly Dean had made it clear he was in a relationship with Castiel and wasn’t interested in her offers.

Dean snorts.  “That’s just annoying, man.  But she’s got this whole--” he waves his free hand around in a vague gesture “--mad scientist vibe going.” He shakes his head and finally meets Castiel’s eyes.  “But that’s not it.”

“What is it then?”

Dean pulls his bottom lip through his teeth, and he stares hard enough that Castiel checks to make sure his channels are open in case Dean is trying to send his thoughts via text.  But there’s no data coming from them, so he waits for whatever Dean has to say.  

“Chuck says you can’t go back, Cas.”  

It was something Chuck had disclosed to them before they’d started.  Amara had figured out how to program synapse connections in brain cells so his consciousness could be moved to them, but they still hadn’t figured out how to transfer human consciousness to the Overnet.  

Technically Castiel’s consciousness is just being copied, like data from one hard drive to another.  But as an AI that doesn’t bother him the way it apparently bothers humans.  But his old positronic drive will only hold memories up to the point of transfer.  New memories will only be stored in his new biological brain.   

Tilting his head for a better view angle, Castiel analyzes Dean’s expression.  “And this scares you?”

“It doesn’t scare you?” Dean demands.  “Biological bodies are fragile, dude.”

“I’ll have cybernetic enhancements similar to yours,” Castiel reminds him.  Of higher quality actually and with better installation since they’ll be 3D printed into his new body.  And a more advanced neural network with top of the line medical nanites.  His current body can heal broken synth skin, but internal damage would be more permanent than any injury he’d get in a biological body.  “Jimmy said he’d spare no expense on the tech, and you gave him an extensive list of what to include.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Dean.” He turns, forcing Dean to do the same with their clasped hands.  He reaches up to touch Dean’s face, running his thumb over stubble that Dean has been ignoring since they got to Chicago and measuring its length by its softness.  “I’m not scared to live my life the way a human does.  You all live with fragile biological bodies.”

“Not always for long,” Dean mutters, but the way his lips turn up make it more of a joke than an argument.

“But you still do it.  And I want to experience living the way you do.”

Dean tilts his face into Castiel’s hand, kissing his palm twice before nestling his cheek against it again.  “I know, Cas.  That’s why we’re here.”

He no longer needs to cross reference Dean’s expressions with the extensive database he’s kept of them over the months they’ve known each other.  He recognizes the softness around Dean’s eyes and mouth as love, the nearly imperceptible tremble of his lashes as nervousness at expressing it.  

Castiel wonders if Dean can see how much he loves him back in his expression.  

And then he wonders what love will feel like with a real heart beating in his chest.  

Will it it be like all the things he’s read about?  Will his heart pound harder?  Will his breath catch?  He hopes so.  

He wants to kiss Dean, and so he does.  The pressure and heat sensors in his lips light up with data, and he diligently records all of it.  Amara is going to transfer his personality and memory cores into the biological brain, and he wants every kiss with Dean to come with him to his new vessel.

In just a few hours they’ll start the transfer.  He’s not scared at all.  Curious, definitely.  Possibly even excited.  He puts all of that into the kiss until he feels Dean shift against him with a different kind of urgency, one driven by desire rather than fear.  His hands come up and cup Castiel’s face before running up into his hair and angling him for a deeper kiss, and Castiel responds with a soft moan, barely a vibration but he knows Dean senses it by the way his breath hitches.

It’s tempting to take things further, but there’s no time.  Something which Dean is apparently aware of as well since he breaks away from the kiss first, pressing their foreheads together and breathing heavily into the space between their mouths.  

“Dean,” Castiel says softly.  He has nothing else to add.  He just wants to feel the way his mouth shapes the name again while he’s still in this body.  Another memory he hopes to carry with him.

The overhead lights flicker to life, and a door opening on the far side of the lab announces that they’re no longer alone, but Dean doesn’t pull away.  His fingers tighten against Castiel’s scalp.  “Cas,” he whispers back.  And then again.  “Cas.”

The nickname makes Castiel smile.  Dean gives them out to those he cares about, and the simple shortening of his given name holds so much affection in it.

“Oh hey guys.  You’re here early.”

Chuck’s greeting finally prompts Dean to let go of Castiel’s hair, although his hands slide down Castiel’s face and over his shoulders before he lets go altogether and turns to face the other man.  His smile looks bright, but Castiel can see there’s still a tightness around his eyes that will probably be there until the procedure is over.  “Yeah, somebody--” he nudges Castiel with an elbow “--couldn’t sleep and wanted to come see the lab.”

“Yeah I can’t blame you.” Chuck’s quiet laugh doesn’t hold the edge of nerves that it did when he’d first met Dean.  They’d actually started to talk and seemingly get along as friends over the past few days.  Especially as Dean worked to stop masking his own fears with hostility.  “I guess you’re ready to get started, huh Castiel?”

“Yes.”  More than ready.  Impatient even.

“Well Amara and Jimmy should be here soon.” Chuck heads over to the monitors and looks over the data, pulling info out into 3D holograms for closer examination.  “Is Sam going to be here too?”

“I just sent him a message,” Dean says.  “He’s on his way.”

Less than half an hour later, everyone is gathered in the lab.  Fully lit with overhead lights, and with people occupying the space it seems more like the sterile environment Dean had mentioned showing up in some of his sci-fi vids, and Castiel smiles at the comparison.  

“You’re excited, huh?” Sam asks.

“I am,” Castiel confirms.  

“I don’t blame you.  It’s pretty cool.”  Sam shifts, folding his arms over his chest and jerking his chin in Dean’s direction.  He’s standing close behind Chuck and Amara, watching to everything they’re doing with keen eyes.  “How’s he doing with it?”

“He’s scared.”

Sam turns wide eyes to Cas.  “He admitted it?”

“Not out loud.”  Castiel tries out a crooked smile that Dean often uses to convey humor.

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes.  “Okay yeah, I didn’t think he would.”  He’s quiet for a moment, watching Castiel thoughtfully.  “Are you?”

“No.”

“It would be okay if you were,” Sam says.  “I admit, I’m a little nervous.  But this is all so freaking cool too.  I’m excited for you.”

Castiel’s smile evens out.  “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam claps him on the shoulder, and they stand together quietly while they wait for the preparations to be completed.  It’s only a few minutes before Jimmy approaches them with a hologram screen floating above his hand, scrolling through text.  

“Okay Castiel, I’ve got your identification records almost complete.”  He gestures and the information expands so that Castiel and Sam can read it too.  "Genetically we're twins, but you look much younger than me, so on paper you'll be my son.  I'll set your birthday as your manufacture date.  Got medical and educational history in here--”

“Gender and Sexuality studies?” Sam asks with a laugh.  “Did you choose that?”

“I did,” Castiel says.  “It seems most closely associated with the educational data I’m already loaded with.”

Sam grins.  “Fancy way to repackage brothel work.  I like it.”

Jimmy snorts.  “Yeah, we won’t be putting that in his work history.”  He scrolls again, and brings up Castiel’s social security information.  "How about your legal name? You want to keep 'Castiel'?"

“If that’s alright with you.  I’m rather attached to the name.”

Jimmy smiles.  “I’m cool with it.”  He keys in new data on the form.  “Although I'm already named after my dad, so I've got dibs on being Junior.  Should we call you The Third?  Or I can swap the first and middle names so you sound less pretentious?" He waits for Castiel's confirmation. "So you’ll be Castiel James Novak--”

“Wait, you’re going with ‘Novak’?” Dean spins around, no longer paying attention to Chuck and Amara’s work.  

Castiel tilts his head so that he can better see Dean through the hologram data.  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Dean drops his eyes to the floor and rubs at the back of his neck.  With the overhead lights now brightly illuminating the room, the spread of pink across his cheeks is very obvious.  “I uh… I guess I thought you might want to go with ‘Winchester’.”

“Oh.  I hadn’t thought of that,” Castiel says.

Jimmy glances back and forth from Dean to Castiel.  “I could do ‘Winchester’... maybe make up a marriage license, or--”

 _“Marriage license?”_ Dean yelps.  

“Well I mean…” Jimmy clears his throat.  “I guess it’s not necessary, but keeping his background the same as mine so that we look like family will make the identity we’re buying for him more iron clad.  I guess it won’t really matter unless he gets a government job, but we need to hide our tracks with this whole thing and--”

“No no, I get it,” Dean cuts in.  He meets Castiel’s eyes, and chews at his bottom lip for a moment.  Finally he sighs, and puts on a weak smile.  “Castiel Novak has a nice ring to it.  You can go with that.”

Castiel thinks that _Castiel Winchester_ also sounds nice.  But Jimmy’s reasoning is sound, and they really do need to do everything they can to hide this procedure from the outside world.  

When Jimmy looks to him in question, he nods his permission to continue with what he’s doing.  Jimmy smiles, and sends him a private message, _Maybe you should bring up the marriage thing to him again sometime._

If Castiel had the ability to blush, he believes he would.  But whatever reaction he does display to the message makes Jimmy laugh and shake his head.  He doesn’t push the subject though, going back to editing documents.  “Alright then.  Castiel James Novak it is.”

“Cas,” Chuck calls from near the monitors.  “It’s time.”

At the announcement Castiel’s error log lights up.  It freezes him momentarily, until he can dismiss most of them, and he has to adjust his security functions to a lower threshold so they don’t continue to build up.  From the cautious looks he’s receiving from everyone but Amara, his momentary lapse doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You okay, Cas?” Sam asks, cupping a large hand around his elbow.

“I believe that I am starting to feel scared,” he says honestly.

Dean is immediately at his other side, sliding an arm over his shoulders and leaning in to press a kiss against his temple.  “Hey.  You’re not thinking of backing out are you?”

No, he’s not.  But his threat assessment software is choosing now to remind him of all the risk reports he’s been ignoring.  “My security protocols are very strongly recommending it.”

“Ignore ‘em,” Dean says, surprising Castiel into turning to meet his eyes.  He hasn’t argued directly with Castiel about going through the procedure since the beginning, but this is the first time he’s outright argued in its favor.  “Everything’s going to go off without a hitch, and when we’re done here, you’re gonna have one hell of a new life waiting for you.”

It takes an administrative override to shut down his security protocols altogether, and he has to go through several rounds of warnings against it.  But he shuts them down completely and clears his error log.  He leans into Dean and brushes a kiss against his lips in silent gratitude.  Then he turns his attention back to Chuck.

“I’m ready.”

“Okay, come have a seat here.”

Even without his security protocols active, it is still somewhat difficult to step away from the safety of the Winchesters at his side.  But Castiel puts one foot in front of the other, until he’s able to sit down in the chair in front of Chuck.

Chuck smiles at him, and it’s warm and reassuring.  “We’re going to power you off and remove your personality core now.”

Castiel nods, but when Chuck reaches for the power button behind his ear, he reaches up and catches his wrist to stop him.  “Wait.”

“What is it?” Chuck doesn’t try to pull away from his grip, and just waits patiently.

It takes a moment for Castiel to formulate everything he wants to know into a simple question.   “When I wake up again... in my new body... will it be... will _I_ be different? Will it make me different? Will it have... will _I_ have a... soul?”

“I don’t know,” Chuck says.  

It’s not what Castiel expected to hear, and certainly not what he hoped for.  “Oh, I see.”

Chuck wriggles his wrist until Castiel lets him go, but instead of reaching for the power button again, he crouches down in front of Castiel’s knees.  “Look, I’m going to be honest with you.  I don’t know if there’s such thing as a soul.  I don’t know if there’s such thing as God, or an afterlife, or any of that stuff.  But I’ll tell you what I do know.”  He taps his finger on Castiel’s knee.  “This body is run by a conscious being.  Someone who thinks and learns and makes decisions.  Who is only different from me in the composition of their vessel, but everything we’re made of still comes from the same universe.  So whatever it is that you are, whether that’s a soul or not, you are the same thing that I am.  Changing your vessel from synthetic to organic won’t change that.”

It’s still not exactly the answer he expected or hoped for, but it’s the still the answer he needed.  He wraps his fingers around Chuck’s wrist again, and lifts it to his temple.

Chuck smiles and dips his fingers into Castiel’s hair, touch gentle as his finger settles over the power button.  “See you on the other side.”

***

Slowly the steady beep of a heart monitor breaks into the darkness, and Dean groans.  He’s sure from the gritty feeling under his eyelids and the deep body ache he’s experiencing that he can’t have slept more than a few hours.  A check of his internal clock confirms his suspicion, and he’s briefly tempted to execute a command for his medical nanites to knock him back out.  But that steady beep is a siren call he can’t resist.  

Rolling to the side, he cracks an eye open and peeks at the dimly glowing wall of monitors surrounding the other bed in the room.  He’s too far away to read anything, and enhancing his vision is useless unless he opens both eyes and sits up so that he can actually see them from the correct angle, but he knows there aren’t any alerts.  No flashing lights, no sirens.  Just the soft _beep beep beep_ of a healthy heart.

He should go back to sleep, get a few more hours of rest.  But instead he sits up, and pushes himself to his feet with more effort than it should take, and shuffles over to the other bed.

The blue and green lights of the monitors above Castiel’s head give his skin a sickly hue, and Dean calls up the overhead sunstrips.  They illuminate everything in a soft yellow glow, making Castiel’s skin look pink and healthy, and Dean sighs in relief.  

He runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, still just as fascinated with its texture now as the first time he’d braved touching it after this new, yet familiar, body had been decanted from the biotank.  The strands are thicker than Castiel’s synthetic hair had been, yet still soft and silky even under a layer of oil that doesn’t quite wash out with the sponge baths Dean has been giving him.  And they’re growing, something he can tell by the way they curl around his fingers now in a way they were too short to do weeks ago.  

Of course, even if he didn’t notice that Castiel’s hair is growing, it’d be hard to ignore the full beard he’d grown in that same length of time.  Dean pets down the side of Castiel’s face and rubs his knuckles over the wiry scruff and smiles.  No more perpetual five o’clock shadow.  Cas is going to have to learn how to shave.

“I’ll teach you how,” Dean mutters.  “Soon as you wake up, Cas.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to the smooth skin of Castiel’s forehead.  He wants to kiss him on the mouth, but refrains.  It’s something that Cas needs to be awake for the first time.  

There’s no response to his touch.  No twitches, no spike in the heart monitor’s beeping.  Nothing.

Dean pulls a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out slowly through his mouth.  Then does it again for good measure.  It’s only slightly effective at calming his nerves, but the results are are acceptable.  

The scent of his own sweat when he does it is not though.  “I’m going to take a shower, Cas.  I’ll be back soon.”  

Castiel’s medical suite is top of the line, more like a small apartment than a hospital room.  The en suite bathroom is more luxurious than anything Dean would ever bother spending money on, but he doesn’t even try all the bells and whistles.  His shower is perfunctory, quick.  And he barely notices the softness of the towels or the rugs under his feet as he hurriedly dries and redresses, too focused on returning to the main room.

Not that he needed to have hurried.  As has been the case for the last thirty-two days, there has been no change in Castiel’s status when he returns.  

“Wanna watch something, Cas?” he says as he takes a seat in the recliner next to Castiel’s bed.  “There’s a documentary about bees that I think you’d probably like.”

Despite the lack of response, Dean loads up the film on a hologram screen and settles back in the chair while it starts.  He reaches through the bars at the side of Castiel’s bed and wraps his hand around Castiel’s wrist.  The warmth of his skin, and the flutter of his heartbeat at his wrist grounds Dean.  Keeps the fear that something is seriously wrong at bay.  Drives bouts of panic down to mild anxiety.  

He presses his finger over Castiel’s pulse, and breathes.

After the documentary finishes, Dean starts up another one about the history of the Mars colonization.  About halfway through, Dean’s eyelids start to droop.  But before sleep can overtake him completely the suite’s door opens and Sam slips inside, carrying a covered tray that smells like it contains food in one hand, and a couple of tall thermo cups that promise caffeine.  

“Mornin’, Sammy,” Dean mumbles.

Sam sets his burden down on the counter of the suite’s small kitchenette, and brings Dean one of the cups.  “You know I’m pretty sure Cas isn’t going to be happy if he wakes up just to find that you’ve been hospitalized due to lack of sleep.”

Dean grunts softly and accepts the cup with a smile that he hopes looks grateful instead of miserable.  He’s tired enough that even the rich scent of the expensive brew barely makes an impression, although the bitter heat against his tongue does make him sigh with some pleasure.  He takes a second sip before cradling the mug on his lap and resuming his vigil.  “I sleep some.”

He catches Sam’s skeptical look and braces himself for an argument.

Which Sam decides not to start.  Instead he uncovers the food, and brings Dean a breakfast burrito and a pile of napkins.  “How’s he doing today?”

“Same as yesterday,” Dean sighs.  He rubs a hand over his aching face before accepting the food.  His stomach grumbles, but the first bite tastes like cardboard, and he has to wash it down with more coffee.  “And the day before, and the day before…”  

“Chuck says the process takes a while.”

The reminder isn’t necessary.  Chuck had warned them before they’d started, and again while they watched the tank of nanites build Castiel’s new body from what seemed like nothing, and once more when they placed Castiel’s freshly grown body in the hospital bed he’s occupied since.  Dean’s not sure why everyone keeps telling him, since he’s not asking anymore.  

He still wishes that there were a more definite end date to “a while” though.

The weight of Sam’s stare prompts him to finish the rest of his breakfast, and he does feel better afterwards.  Even manages to catch a nap in the recliner, because it’s comfortable enough to do so.  Sam’s still there when he wakes again, eyes glazed and biocircuitry glowing as he deep dives through the overnet.  

Throughout the day they’re joined by Chuck and Jimmy.  They come to check on Castiel, and to surreptitiously check on Dean probably.  But they’re both understanding of his refusal to leave Castiel’s side and make sure the suite has everything he needs to be comfortable.

They’re nice guys, and Dean’s probably going to be sorry for being gruff with them later for not having any new information on when Castiel might wake up from his coma.

Amara is a different matter.  She doesn’t tip toe around Dean like everyone else does, which would rub him wrong anyway, but Dean would rather not have any reason to speak with her at all.  Not after the bullshit she’d pulled on him before Castiel’s new body had been even half grown.

_“It’ll be interesting to see if Castiel still loves you with a hypothalamus controlling his emotions instead of a chipset.”_

_Dean’s head whips around, and he stares at her profile.  “Excuse me?”_

_In the glow coming from the biotank, her eyes look pitch black when she turns her attention from the growing mass barely visible inside the cloudy liquid.  “I never experienced emotions prior to having a biological body.  Castiel has synthetically created emotions, and I am not sure they will be compatible with his new biological system.”_

Chuck had cut into that conversation quickly, asking her what might have been nonsense questions just to distract her from her conversation with Dean.  But the seed had already been planted, and even though she hasn’t brought it up again, he can see the speculative looks she gives him whenever she comes in to check on Castiel’s progress.

It’s between check ups, sometime in the afternoon, or at least Dean thinks so since time doesn’t hold as much meaning without a solid sleep schedule, when something shifts in what has become the normal monotony of Dean’s days.  There’s a barely perceptible change in the flutter of Castiel’s pulse under his fingers, and heart monitor double beeps.

_Beep beepbeep beep beep…_

“Does that mean anything?” Sam asks into the quiet.

They stare at each other over the bed, holding their breath.

_Beepbeep beep beep beep…_

The second anomaly has them both surging to their feet and bending over Castiel.  

“I’m calling Chuck,” Sam says.

Dean barely hears him.  All his focus is on Castiel.  He’s stared at Castiel for hours upon hours over the last few weeks, cataloguing the differences between the old and the new.  This new face seems younger, the skin smoother and lighter, his lashes thicker.  But his cheekbones and lips and the curve of his jaw, before it was hidden under a beard, are unchanged.  In all that time Castiel has appeared to be sleeping peacefully, not a twitch or a spasm in sight.

But now his eyes are moving behind his eyelids, and his lips part on a trembling inhale.

The monitors light up.

“Cas?” Dean cups his face.  “Can you hear me, bud?”

The beep of the heart monitor increases in speed.  Dean’s sure it’s somehow hooked up to him, measuring the gallop of his own madly beating heart.

He’s still got Castiel’s hand clasped in his, and he lifts it to his chest.  A shocked sound escapes the constriction of his throat when he feels Castiel’s fingers tighten around his.

The suite’s door slams open, and several pairs of feet clatter across the floor toward the bed.  Dean doesn’t look to see who it is, all his attention on Castiel.  As if from far away he can hear Chuck and Amara talking, something about brain wave activity spiking.

Castiel’s eyelids flutter, and Dean holds his breath.

Slowly, dark lashes lift, revealing vividly blue eyes.  Human eyes that Dean’s never looked into before, but recognizes immediately.  He watches the irises adjust to the light for the first time, and they flit around without focus for a moment before they settle on Dean’s face.

A shuddering breath pushes out of Dean’s lungs, and his own vision blurs.  “Cas?”

Pink lips curve in a familiar smile.

“Dean.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is awake, and everything is _awesome_.

“Dean.”

Feeling his own tongue move inside his mouth is such a novel experience that Castiel repeats the motion.  Tip against his palate just soft enough to push it away with an exhale, then flattening first at the bottom of his mouth and then against the roof.  “Deeeannn.”

Oh, that last part vibrates in his nose and he does it again.  “Nnnnnnnnnn.”

Above him, Dean’s eyes crinkle with delight.  “How you doin’, Cas?”

“Nnnnnnn, feels--”  he breaks off with a gasp and presses his teeth into his bottom lip.  “Ffffffffffffff.”

Dean’s grin widens.  “You gonna go through the whole alphabet, bud?”

What an excellent idea.  “A,” interesting, “b.. oh beeee… b-b-b-b--”

He reaches up to touch his own lips, to explore the way they bounce together but doesn’t make it.  The jolt of sensation from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers as they slide out from under a blanket make him gasp again.  His attention shifts to his hand, and he wiggles and curls his fingers.  The tips brush against his palm and he curls them tighter until the nails bite into the skin.  It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s _new_ and _exciting_ and--

Oh.   _Oh_ , there’s a thumping in his chest.  A twinge deep inside as he inhales until he can’t anymore, and he likes it.

He drops his palm to his chest and it collapses when all the air he’d sucked in explodes out.  The cloth covering him is… is… _is soft._

Rubbing over it, he can feel the thumping underneath.  Its pace increases with the beeping coming from somewhere in the room.  His heart.

He has a _heart._  And it’s _beating._

Heat suffuses his skin, and the rate of his breathing increases, and it feels _incredible._  And it’s too much all at once.  All the sensations feeding back to his mind-- _his brain_ \--in a flash of data that he can’t instantly parse.  The input from his skin and his heart, and and and is that-? He pulls air in through his nose and he doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe what smelling feels like, but he’s pretty sure that’s what he’s doing, and--

His vision, the only thing that feels familiar, goes blurry and he looks around wildly, trying to focus.  “Dean?” he gasps.

“Hey!  It’s okay, Cas, it’s okay.”  Heat and pressure wraps around his face, making Castiel gasp again.  But the pressure guides him until his vision is oriented towards Dean again.  “I’m right here, bud.  Right here.  Breathe with me, okay?”

Castiel catches on quickly, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth in long, slow motions.  It feels _incredible_ , and it catches in his throat with a strangled sound while his vision blurs further.  Something hot-- _hot--_ leaks down the sides of his face, and he wants to switch all his focus to that, but he can’t.

“Ah don’t cry, Cas, come on, calm down.”  Dean pulls him up into a sitting position and wraps him in a tight hug that feels wonderful and right.  

The sensation of being rocked is both novel and soothing, and Castiel wants it all to go on forever.  But at the same time, there’s so much _more_ to be experienced.  Like Dean’s fingers combing through his hair.

“Oh,” he says into Dean’s t-shirt.  “That’s… that’s…” Making S sounds distract him briefly, but he’s learning to shift his attention, and he concentrates on Dean’s fingers in his hair, Dean’s _scent in his nose._  

A hiccoughing laugh breaks from his throat.  At least he thinks it’s a laugh.  It sounds like it should be a laugh.  And it’s _so good._  It shakes his whole body, and he doesn’t want it to end, but it also makes his chest ache until he gasps in more air.  

He scrabbles for Dean’s shirt, wrapping the fabric in his fingers, pulling himself closer, anchoring himself in the storm of what must be emotions.  And that realization makes him cling tighter.

Until a wave of heaviness washes over him and his whole body slumps.  The laughter trails off in a long sigh, and he feels like he’s being pulled by gravity back to the bed.  Is he tired?  Is this what it feels like to run out of energy?

He’s thankful when Dean’s arms stay tight around him, holding him in place.

“I guess that answers the question of how you feel,” Dean murmurs against the top of his head.

Another small burst of giggles rattles through Castiel’s body again, but he grins through it.  “Good,” he says.  “I feel good. _I_ feel.”  He turns his face into the wall of Dean’s chest and nuzzles the fabric covered firmness and takes a deep breath.  “You _smell._ ”

“Uh… thanks?” The amusement lacing Dean’s words make Castiel smile harder.  “I just showered a few hours ago, so I hope that’s a good thing anyway.”

Castiel almost wishes he hadn’t, because he’s intensely curious what Dean’s sweaty body smells like.  But if this is what Clean Dean smells like, it’s very pleasant and he’s enjoying the experience very much.  “Very good,” he murmurs.

V sounds are fun to make.  “Vvvvvvvvery good.”

“Wanna come out of hiding and say hi to everyone?” Dean asks.  “I’m not the only one who’s missed you.”

Castiel lifts his head from Dean’s chest and looks around to see that he is indeed surrounded.  Sam, Chuck, and Jimmy are all grinning at him and his lips peel back from his own teeth in response.  He’s surprised to find Amara hovering at the foot of his bed as well.  Her smile is softer, fond.  A reaction he wouldn’t have expected from her, but he supposes that he’s sharing an experience with her that no one else has before.  When their eyes meet she winks, and pressure boils up inside him until he’s laughing again, even as his eyes blur.  

Tears.  He’s crying.  How _wonderful._

“Hello,” he says to the group around his bed.

“Glad you have you back, Cas,” Sam says with a gentle clap against his back.

“Finally,” Dean grumbles.  “Took you long enough.”

The relief threaded through Dean’s words catch Castiel’s attention.  Chuck had explained that it would take Castiel’s brain some time to be programmed with his personality and memory algorithms, but he hadn’t been able to give an estimate for how long it would take to complete.  “How long was I...?”

“A little over a month,” Chuck answers.  “Which is good!  Amara’s integration took three times as long.  So we’ve improved the process over last time.”

“Or he’s less complex and didn’t need as much time to program his neurons,” Amara adds dryly. Her eyes shine with humor, taking the sting out of the insult.

Chuck winces anyway.  “Amara don’t--”

“I’m _joking_ ,” she sighs.  “I can do that, even if you didn’t program me with a sense of humor.”

“Explains why you’re not very good at it,” Jimmy mutters, earning himself an acid glare from Amara.  He responds with a jaunty grin.  “Just joking!”

“Any _way,”_ Dean cuts in.  “Now what?  When can we get Cas out of here?  This place is nice, but there’s no place like home and all.”

Home.  The bunker is the first place that Castiel associates the word with, but hearing Dean casually mention taking him _home_ , no matter the location, makes something twinge inside his chest.  It’s warm and expansive, and it’s pleasant.  As Chuck rambles about tests and treatments Castiel tunes him out, turning his attention inward.  This must be an emotional reaction, and he takes a moment to consider it, to assign it an identity.  

He searches his memories, something that takes more time than he’s accustomed to.  He can’t just access files, he has to follow a trail of thoughts.  Home trigger thoughts of the bunker, which brings forward memories of times spent there.  They’re in no particular order.  First he remembers his bedroom the last time he used it, the bed neatly made and a stack of books waiting for him on the side table.  That leads him to Dean’s bedroom, the blankets bunched at the foot, the pillows crumpled with the imprint of their heads, Dean standing at his dresser and digging through the top drawer and pulling out a pair of boxers.  That memory leads to thoughts of Castiel’s favorite orange underwear, which leads to walking down the hallway in his orange dress, which leads to smoothing it over his thighs while sitting in the kitchen with the brothers while they eat breakfast.

Each memory leads to another and another, in a long chain.  Some of them feel more vivid than others, with flashes of imagery and sound.  Others feel vague, washed out, more a surety that they happened than actual supporting data.  He examines each one as closely as possible, and knows that in every single one of them he would define his mood as happy.  Because he’d wanted each moment to continue while still being eager to find out what experiences still awaited him.

And as each memory surfaces the feeling inside his chest grows more buoyant, and a smile pulls harder at the corners of his mouth.

“Cas?” Dean says softly, interrupting his self analysis.  “You okay, bud?”

Lifting his head from Dean’s chest, Castiel finds green eyes focused on him with concern.  It smoothes away slightly when Castiel meets his gaze, probably because Castiel can’t quit smiling.  “I think I’m happy, Dean.”

Dean chuckles.  “Can’t tell from your face.”

Castiel’s smile immediately falls away, his mouth puckering and his brows coming together.  “You can’t?”  Then he realizes that his face reacted without his conscious input and he lifts a hand to trace his features.  “Why am I frowning?  I didn’t mean to frown.”

“It’ll do lots of things you don’t command it to do,” Sam says with a grin.  “And you look confused, so I’d say that’s what your face is reacting to.”

And just like that Castiel is smiling again.  “Awesome.”

When everyone laughs, Castiel joins in.   _Happily._

***

Going home immediately isn’t an option, which makes Castiel decidedly less happy.  Especially when Chuck insists he needs to be put back to sleep to remove the medical umbilical that’s been keeping his body healthy during his coma.  But without the umbilical he’ll no longer be restricted to the bed, which is much better news.  

But when he reawakens the dull ache in his middle is new and novel for all of a few seconds before he’s ready for it to go away.

“Hey, you’re awake.  Welcome back.”

Castiel turns his head on the pillow and squints at Dean’s silhouette at his bedside.  “Why is it dark?”

“It’s the middle of the night.” Dean’s answer is accompanied by the brightening of the overhead lights.  He smiles warmly and props his arms on the edge of Castiel’s bed.  “How’re you feeling?”

Castiel’s hand seems heavy as he moves it, and the sensation of gravity pulling against his muscles almost distracts him from the question.  Until he rests it on his stomach and the dull ache sharpens slightly.  “My stomach… does not feel pleasant.”

Dean’s smile drops away.  “I’m sorry.  Chuck said you’d probably feel it for a few days.  He didn’t want to give you too much pain relief.  Said you need to learn how to deal with it.”

He’d given Castiel the same warning prior to the procedure.  “I remember.”

Dean reaches across the bed and pokes gently at Castiel’s forehead.  “Doesn’t make it any more fun, even if you know, huh?”

“‘Fun’ is not the term I would use,” Castiel agrees.  “Maybe ‘interesting’, if I’m being generous.”

Watching Dean throw his head back with laughter has always been something Castiel enjoys, but experiencing it with his new senses is even better.  Dean’s voice is deep and pleasant in his ears, and warm zingy sensations flit through Castiel’s extremities as he examines the shape of Dean’s features and the animation of his movements.  Without his conscious input his arm moves, and his fingers seek out the stubble lining Dean’s cheeks.  

He very much enjoys the prickly feeling under his touch.

Dean leans into it and cups his hand over Castiel’s, flattening his palm against Dean’s cheek.  The prickly feeling spreads and Castiel can feel the sensations pass from his hand to his wrist and halfway to his elbow before he’s unable to parse the path of signals through his nerves.  

“Maybe I can distract you from it,” Dean says, and Castiel’s ready to protest that he’d rather not be distracted from exploring the textures under his hand, but then adds “pain’s much easier to conquer if you’re not thinking about it.”

The simple truth of that statement is confirmed when the pain in Castiel’s abdomen blooms at the reminder that it exists.  “Yes, I would like to be distracted,” he agrees.  Especially if it means he can pet Dean’s scruff some more.  

“How about a shower?” Dean suggests.

And just like that, pain is no longer an issue.  Instead of an ache in his belly there’s a flutter.  “Yes!”

In addition to the promise of a shower, he’s eager to try out his new legs for the first time and impatient with Dean’s insistence that he go slowly so he doesn’t fall on his face.  Which is why he ignores Dean’s advice and attempts to get out of bed immediately.  It takes more effort than he expects to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and when he first lets his weight down on his feet he nearly collapses to his knees.  Only Dean’s quick reflexes keep him from ending up in a heap on the floor.

“Careful,” Dean warns softly.  “No damaging the goods now that you got ‘em.”

Castiel huffs and clings to Dean’s shoulders until his legs begin to obey his orders and straighten until he’s standing.  The floor feels hard and cold, and he takes a moment to wiggle his toes against it in delight.  “I’m no more fragile than you are, Dean.”

“And falling on my face would hurt like a bitch, so my point still stands.”  Dean wraps his arm around Castiel’s waist, but leaves his grip loose enough that Castiel has to do most of the work of balancing by himself.  “Cybernetics and medical nanites can fix it, but there’s no reason to put them through all that work.”

It’s a valid point, and Castiel concedes.  “I will be glad when my stim integration completes.”

Even though his face automatically responds to his thoughts and emotions, the rest of Castiel’s body is not so cooperative.  Chuck had loaded Castiel’s head with stims meant for brain trauma patients, and they teach him basic motor function and muscle control.  But stims require practice for full integration.

He has to learn to interpret his depth perception, and to balance his weight properly so that he doesn’t tip over as soon as Dean is no longer there to support him.  Chuck said that it may take a few hours before he feels stable enough to stand without support, and possibly a full day before he’s capable of walking on his own.  

“You’ll be running circles around me and Sam in no time,” Dean promises warmly.  “But you gotta walk before you can run, bud.”

Castiel grins.  “Or at least stand without falling over.”

He’s rewarded with a another deep chuckle.  “Yeah exactly.”  Moving to Castiel’s side and tightening his grip around his waist, Dean exerts pressure that forces Castiel to step forward to maintain his balance.  “Come on, Cas.  Baby steps.”

Coordinating his movements takes all of Castiel’s concentration, and it seems to take far too long for the short distance.  But they make it to the bathroom.  Castiel insists on stopping at the mirror and examining his new beard, which is equally soft and scratchy under his touch.  

“My hair grows!”

Dean grins and bumps his knuckles against Castiel’s cheek.  “You gonna keep the peach fuzz?”

Castiel tilts his head back and forth, taking in his appearance from different angles.  It’s not an unattractive look, but as he is still getting accustomed to seeing himself through human eyes, he thinks he would feel more comfortable with a familiar appearance.  “No, I’d like to shave.”

“Yeah I’m not going to let you do that on your own for a bit,” Dean says.  He opens a drawer and rummages around until he comes up with the electric shaver Castiel has often witnessed him using on himself.  He brandishes it with a questioning lift of his eyebrows and clicks it on.  “Want me to take care of it?”

“Yes, please.”

Dean gestures for him to turn away from the mirror.  “Lean your hips against the counter to keep your balance.”

He obeys, and Dean steps close.  The razor’s buzzing blade feels weird against his cheek, occasionally tugging sharply at a hair before cutting it and leaving a slight sting.  It’s not painful, and Castiel concentrates on holding still.  It helps having Dean so close, because Castiel can count his freckles from this distance.

It’s extremely gratifying that he can still indulge in one of his favorite hobbies with his new eyes.

Once he’s shaved, Dean turns him with a firm grip on his hips, so he can view his new appearance.  “Lookin’ good, Cas.”

Castiel grins at his reflection and reaches up to rub his cheeks with both hands.  There’s still the lightest hint of stubble, and the prickle on his palms is both sharper and less intense than when he rubs Dean’s longer stubble.  

“When you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you how to use a razor if you want it smoother,” Dean says.  “But for now, it’s probably a better idea to wait.”

“This is good,” Castiel says.  “I like it.”

Dean’s teeth flash.  “Me too.”  The admission makes his cheeks flush, and he turns away, leaving Castiel leaned against the counter.  “I’ll uh… get the water started.  Gimme a sec.”

Castiel watches Dean fiddle with the water controls for only a second before he decides to brave taking a few steps on his own.  He keeps his hand braced on the counter for as long as he can, and is pleased when he doesn’t fall over as soon as he lets go.  But then his body wobbles and he lurches forward and grabs the back of Dean’s shirt to keep himself from tumbling down.

“Jesus, Cas, careful!” Dean hisses, but he only grabs Castiel’s wrist to provide support.  “Baby steps, remember?”

Heat suffuses Castiel’s face.  Is he blushing?  Is this what it feels like?  Fascinating.  “It was only four steps, and you’re close enough I didn’t think it would be a danger.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he looks fond.  “Fine, whatever.  Let’s get you undressed.”

It takes concentration to stay upright while Dean removes his shirt, but he’s able to brace his hands on Dean’s shoulders while his pants and underwear are removed.  Support he’s grateful for when he realizes that balancing on one foot at a time while stationary is actually more challenging than walking.  While walking he’s allowing himself to fall forward while catching himself with his stride.  Just standing on one foot without allowing that momentum to go anywhere is an exercise in concentration.

But by the time he’s stripped naked, he feels comfortable standing without anything to brace himself on while Dean removes his own clothing.  He watches avidly as more skin is revealed, because even though the sight is familiar, his own body is reacting to it in new and interesting ways.

Dean doesn’t seem to notice, instead guiding him into the tiled corner of the room that functions as the shower.  “Check the water temperature and tell me if it’s okay.”

The first splash of water on Castiel’s palm instantly makes him forget everything about Dean’s nudity.  “Oh!”

“Is it okay?”

Castiel wiggles his fingers under the spray.  “Is this hot or cold?”

Dean snorts.  “Neither, it’s just kind of warm.”

“I want to feel different temperatures,” Castiel insists.

“Alright, but if it starts to hurt you tell me immediately.” Dean reaches for the controls and adjusts them.  “This is cold.”

Castiel hisses but keeps his hand in place.  A tingle spreads up his arm, and he notices tiny bumps rising up all over his skin.  He feels a jolt in his chest that manifests itself into a laugh.  “Dean look!  I have goosebumps!”

Dean laughs along with him.  “Yeah, bud, I see that.”

“Change it to--” he’s interrupted when his whole body shudders.  The goosebumps rise up over his chest and back, and even make their way down his legs.  He stares wide eyed at Dean.  “What was that?”

“That’s what your body does when it’s too cold,” Dean says with a grin.  “Stay that way too long and the shivering will be constant.”

Intense curiosity tempts Castiel to wait and see what that’s like, but since he doesn’t know how long it’ll take, he decides that it’s something that can wait for another time.  “Change it to hot,” he says.  “I want to know what that feels like too.”

After repeating his warning about stopping as soon as it becomes uncomfortable, Dean obeys the command and turns the heat back on.  Castiel watches the water running over his palm in fascination as the temperature changes.  He feels it reach what feels like the same level of warm it was when he first put his hand under the flow, and then pays close attention as the warmth increases.

It goes from pleasant to unpleasant so fast that Castiel reacts with a gasp and jerks his hand away before he can ask Dean to stop it.

“Dammit, Cas… you okay?” Dean turns off the water altogether and grabs for Castiel’s hand.  He cradles it in both of his own as he examines the reddened skin.  “I told you to say something if it got too hot.”

“I didn’t know what too hot felt like until now,” Castiel points out.  He also peers down at his hand.  “Am I okay?”

Dean snorts a soft laugh and squeezes his hand, which definitely doesn’t hurt anymore even though the memory of it still lingers in Castiel’s arm and shoulder, like the muscles are prepared to jump into action again to protect his hand.  “Yeah I think you’re fine.  Ready to try the whole body experience now?”

“Yes.” Castiel grins.  “But maybe not so hot.”

“No shit.” Dean’s eyes sparkle with humor as he turns the water back on.  After a moment he says “how’s this?”

Castiel puts his hand back under the water, and it’s pleasant, but… “Maybe a little warmer?”

“Man after my own heart,” Dean murmurs as he adjusts the temperature again.  “Good?”

“Yes, thank you.” Castiel steps forward and the water is a little too warm on his arm and his chest, but he’s distracted by the sting of it pounding against his skin.  Another laugh bubbles up inside him, and he swings his head around.  “Dean!”

“Yeah the water pressure’s great here,” Dean says as he turns on another shower head and angles it so that he can stand right next to Castiel while still getting wet.  “Close your eyes, Cas.”

Castiel obeys, and allows Dean to push him back a step.  The spray beats down on Castiel’s head, and he laughs.  He can’t stop, even when Dean pulls him out again.  Dean’s hands feel good as they brush water out of Castiel’s eyes and the hair away from his forehead, and he’s grinning widely when Castiel opens his eyes to look at him.

“Having fun?” Dean murmurs.

“So much fun,” Castiel confirms.

“Alright ya dork, let’s get you clean.”  Dean reaches for a small alcove in the wall that holds several bottles.  He picks one up and uncaps it and pours the thick clear liquid into his palm before putting the bottle back.  “Tilt your head back and keep it back.  This’ll sting like a bitch if you get it in your eyes.”

Ah shampoo.  Dean always seems to enjoy washing his hair, and Castiel obeys his command, eager to see what all the fuss is about.  And when Dean rubs the soap through his hair, a moan rises up in Castiel’s throat.

“Like that, huh?” Dean’s voice is close, his body closer.

Castiel grips Dean’s waist, half to aid his balance, and half because he feels an undeniable urge to touch.  “It’s very nice.”

And then his nose twitches as something sweet permeates the air.  “Is that…?  What is that smell?”

“Coconut,” Dean answers.  “Not my usual thing, but it’s free and it does the job.”

Castiel pulls in a deep breath through his nose.  “I like it.”

“We’ll steal the bottle for you when we go home,” Dean promises.  “Head back a little more now.”

Dean guides him back under the spray, carefully brushing water away from his eyes and forehead with one hand while running the other through his hair.  Once all traces of the soap are gone he reaches for another bottle.  “Conditioner,” he confirms when he glances at Castiel’s face.

“Can I smell it first?” Castiel accepts the opened bottle when Dean hands it over and holds it up to his nose.  The same sweetness hits his senses and he closes his eyes to enjoy it more fully.  He sighs out, and takes one more whiff before handing it back to Dean.  “What do you normally use?”

“Whatever’s cheapest,” Dean says as he rubs a dollop of the conditioner through Castiel’s hair.  “I think I’ve got apple right now.  I uh… like the fruity ones best.”

“I want to try them too.” Castiel leans into Dean’s touch.  He didn’t think having his head and hair rubbed would be so pleasant, even with the knowledge that Dean enjoys it so much.  It’s no wonder Dean always turns to putty when Castiel washes his hair for him.

“We’ll try whatever soaps you want, Cas.”  Dean reaches for a third bottle and grabs a washcloth to go with it.  He pours some of the liquid soap on the cloth and then holds it up near Castiel’s nose.  “This isn’t so sweet.”

Castiel sniffs, and the scent is sharper.  It makes his sinuses tickle, and he jerks his head back.  The quick movement makes one of his feet slip against the tiles, and it’s only his grip on Dean’s waist, and Dean’s reflexive grab around his arms that keeps him upright.

“Careful!” Dean hisses, but his grip loosens as soon as he’s sure Castiel isn’t going to fall.  “Maybe we should have stuck you in a tub.  Less dangerous.”

“I’m getting better at balancing,” Castiel says.  “And as long as you’re here with me, I’ll be fine.”

Dean snorts.  “Unless you take us both down,” he mutters.  “So I guess you don’t like the bodywash?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits.  “It just surprised me.  Can I try it again?”

Just in case, he holds Dean more firmly as he lowers his nose toward the soapy cloth again.  He inhales shallowly, and the sharpness is still there, but it’s not unpleasant.  In fact, now that he’s expecting it, the sharpness feels nice.  “I think I like it,” he says.  “What is it?”

“Generic manly man,” Dean says.  

Castiel squints at him.  “Is that a real thing?”

“It is according to the soap companies,” Dean confirms.  “Not sure exactly why they think we want to smell like artificial spiciness, but this is what we get.  You wanna use it?  If not, we can use the shampoo.”

Castiel agrees to use it simply because the contrast between the sweet coconut coming from the cream in his hair and the sharpness of the bodywash is interesting.  But soon he barely notices the scents because he’s fully focused on Dean’s hand rubbing his body through the soft cloth.  The texture of it is fascinating, and he focuses all of attention on it.  

Until Dean’s other hand starts spreading the suds around too, and that is far more interesting.  Slick and warm, and yet Castiel can also feel the roughness of his calluses.  His breath hitches when the cloth rubs over his nipples, and gets caught in his throat when they harden in the wake of Dean’s touch.  But then Dean’s hands move lower, and Castiel forgets how to breathe altogether.

Dean clears his throat.  “You’re uh… enjoying yourself, huh?”

Castiel’s eyes had slipped shut without his knowledge, his attention too focused on the hands sliding over his skin.  When he opens them he tilts his head down to see that Dean has knelt down by his feet.  He watches Dean’s hands swipe closer and closer to his groin, where heat and tension is pooling, and he sees his cock respond by thickening and standing out from his body.  

“ _Oh._ ”

Dean looks up at him through dark lashes beaded with water, and the tension in Castiel’s groin coils tighter.  “Guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

And then Dean closes the soapy cloth around Castiel’s erection.  His knees go weak, and he catches himself on Dean’s shoulders, just barely keeping himself from collapsing.

“Whoa, Cas!” Dean’s hands come up to brace Castiel’s weight.  “You okay?”

More than okay.  “Please touch me again, Dean.”  

“Maybe I better not,” Dean says, hesitantly, words tinged with regret. “Shower sex is complicated.”

“Dean, _please._ ”

“Cas--”

“Dean,” Castiel grits out between lips that somehow feel tingly and numb.  “The entire reason I have this body is so that I can feel your touch.  So _touch me._ ”

At first he thinks Dean is going to deny him again, and he’s readying arguments to change his mind.  But then Dean huffs out a soft laugh.  “Okay, Cas, okay.”  He drapes the washcloth over his shoulder, and his hands come to rest on Castiel’s hips.  “Just hold on to me and don’t let go.”

Figuratively speaking, Castiel doesn’t ever want to.  He tightens his grip on Dean’s shoulders and nods his understanding of the order, because for some reason his words feel trapped in his throat behind a growing lump.

But it’s enough for Dean, and he smiles.  It’s sweet and full of heat, and he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth the way Castiel has seen him do so many times when he’s aroused.  He holds Castiel’s gaze as he shifts one hand from Castiel’s hip to his cock.

Castiel gasps and his hips rock forward.

“Gotta try and hold still, Cas,” Dean warns softly.  His grip tightens and he strokes Castiel slowly from base to tip.  “Don’t want to lose your balance.”  

When Dean’s palm squeezes around the head of Castiel’s cock, his hips twitch again and a high pitched noise escapes his throat.  “I-I… Dean…”

“I got you, Cas.”  

It’s easier to nod than to speak, so Castiel does.  Another noise escapes him when Dean strokes him again, but then he can only concentrate on breathing and keeping his balance as Dean’s hand begins to move faster.

The heat and pressure of Dean’s hand becomes the center of Castiel’s awareness.  He can still feel the water pounding against his shoulders, and the cooler air against his front.  He can feel the firmness of Dean’s muscles as Castiel’s fingers tighten against them.  But at the same time, all of that falls away, and all he cares to feel is the building heat and tension in his belly and his cock.  

He tries to obey Dean’s order to stay still but keeps forgetting.  His body wants to thrust forward in the warm tunnel of Dean’s grip, and he is helpless to resist the urge.  There’s something that his body is working towards, rushing towards, something near, just out of reach, but closer with each stroke.

He feels like he’s on the edge of something wondrous when Dean leans in and kisses the head of Castiel’s cock.  His pinkened lips part just barely, and their damp inner edges are hotter than the water and steam surrounding them.

And then Castiel’s body pushes past the barrier it had been struggling against, all at once.  Waves of pleasure roll through his core, and he cries out as his cock spasms with each one.  Dean strokes him through it, kissing and licking the head, his grip tight and firm at first and then becoming softer, more gentle, until it’s too much and Castiel whimpers and tries to pull away.

“Hey, Cas, hey… shhh, it’s okay.”

Dean’s arms wrap around Castiel’s hips and he presses his face into Castiel’s belly.  He whispers encouragement and praise into Castiel’s skin, until the haze of pleasure lifts from Castiel’s mind.  When Castiel blinks open his eyes, which again had squeezed shut without his awareness, he finds Dean smiling up at him.

“Hey there,” Dean says softly.  “I’d ask if you liked that, but I think it’s kind of obvious.”

In his synthetic body, Castiel had laughed often.  He didn’t always recognize the punchlines of every joke, though it was easy to express his amusement when he did.  But it was always a conscious choice.  Laughing was how one expressed amusement and joy, so he would laugh at the right times.  

His laughter now is involuntary.  A release valve for the pressure rising up in his throat.  

He likes it.  Not quite as much as he liked having an orgasm, but he’s definitely looking forward to experiencing both of them again and again, for the rest of his natural life.  

And he’s suddenly so grateful that he has Dean to share both of them with that his vision blurs.  He’s not sure he likes tears, since they come with an uncomfortable ache in his throat and sinuses, but the expanding feeling in his chest that comes with them is _incredible._  Happiness is highly enjoyable when accompanied by physiological responses.

Dean pushes himself to his feet with a grunt and grimaces.  But it’s quickly replaced by a warm smile.  “My knees aren’t too thrilled with me kneeling on the ground like that, but it’s totally worth it to see you like this.”  He cups Castiel’s face and rubs his thumb along his bottom lip.  “You’re damn hot, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel tilts his head up in a way that has always invited Dean to kiss him.  And he’s pleased that Dean still recognizes the motion and meets him halfway.

And _oh._  Kissing is _very nice._

When they break apart, Castiel isn’t quite ready to stop.  But his protest is interrupted when his jaw stretches open.  His lungs expand until there’s the briefest pleasant ache in his chest, and then all the air rushes out of him.  He shakes his his head when he regains control of it and blinks up at Dean when he starts to laugh.  “What was that?”

“C’mon, Cas, don’t tell me you don’t know what a yawn is.”

“That was a yawn?” Castiel asks, his voice higher pitched with his excitement.  “Did I really just yawn?”

“Yeah, and I choose to take it as a compliment that I wore you out instead of an insult that you’re bored,” Dean teases.  “Come on, let’s get you rinsed off and dried and back in bed.”

“Am I tired?” Castiel turns his awareness inward.  There is a heaviness over his thoughts, and his body feels mildly sluggish when he moves.  If this is being tired, it’s far more preferable than having his battery power drop below 15%.  “But I’ve been sleeping so much already.”

“Sleep helps your body heal, even if you’ve got nanites helping the process along,” Dean says as he tilts Castiel’s head back and under the spray of water to rinse out the conditioner.  “And a good orgasm usually comes with the need for a nap.”

“Well it’s the only one I’ve ever experienced,” Castiel says as he turns his body into the spray to wash away the rest of the soap on his skin.  “But I’d definitely define what I just experienced as ‘good’.  At the very least.”

“Mmhm, I’ll bet,” Dean chuckles and presses a kiss against the back of Castiel’s neck.  It triggers a small, full-body shiver.  “Guess I’ll have to give you more so you can really know.  For science, or whatever.”

Castiel thinks that sounds like an excellent plan.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life as a human isn't as easy as Castiel expects it to be.

The end of the staff flies at Sam’s face almost too quickly to dodge, and he not only hears it sweep past a bare centimeter from the tip of his nose, he feels the brush of air dragged behind its momentum across his skin.  That was close as fuck, and if Sam wasn’t concentrating so hard on defending himself against Castiel’s attack he’d be impressed.  But Castiel is keeping him almost literally on his toes as he tries to dodge and parry while searching for an opening to turn the fight to his own advantage.

It takes several more ducks and thwacks of their weapons against each other before Sam sees his chance.  It’s risky and he’ll take some damage, but it’s a small sacrifice to gain the upper hand.  Instead of dodging, he lets Castiel’s staff crack into his upper arm near the shoulder.  Pain jolts through him and if this wasn’t a simulation he suspects the blow might actually damage unenhanced bone.  As it is, he’s now disabled on his left side, but his opening is there…

Castiel gasps as Sam’s sword cuts into his flesh and he falls back, dropping his staff and cradling the injury with both hands.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Sam lowers his weapon and hurries to check on his friend.  Real pain accompanies simulated injuries, and Castiel doesn’t have much experience with pain yet--

A bloodied palm slams up into Sam’s chin, knocking his head back and dazing him long enough for Castiel to knock the sword from his hand and leave it stinging.  And then he’s dodging a fury of blows.  Castiel is _fast,_ almost inhumanly.  But Sam’s cybernetic enhancements give him the same speed, and experience gives him the upper hand despite the pain still throbbing in his shoulder.  Soon Castiel is blocking blows and kicks, protecting his injured side.

Sam is likely going to win this fight.  Blood is spreading down Castiel’s thigh, staining his pristine white workout gear vivid red.  His face is twisted with pain, his eyes narrowed against real sweat dripping in his eyes, and Sam knows that only pure bullheadedness is keeping him from calling an end to the fight.  A trait that Sam is very sure Castiel learned from Dean.

And just like Dean he’ll push himself too hard if Sam doesn’t let up first.  This is just sparring, not life or death, and this has already gone too far.  Sam opens his mouth to end the fight himself, but another voice thunders through the gym first.

 _“What the_ fuck _do you think you’re doing?”_

Startled by Dean’s bellow, Castiel stumbles and falls to his ass just as the projected image of packed dirt pixelates away to reveal padded flooring.  The pixelation continues up the walls and over the ceiling, erasing trees and blue sky and leaving them in the large concrete basement that houses the bunker’s gym.  The blood disappears from Castiel’s clothing and he gasps with relief as the simulated pain of the injury goes with it.

Dean is at his side in an instant, checking Castiel for real injuries.  “Jesus fucking Christ, Sam,” he barks.  “Are you trying to send him into shock?”

After the prolonged sparring session, Sam barely has the breath to answer, and his limbs suddenly feel like jello (green, because Dean’s _wrong_ about red being the better flavor).  He swipes an arm across his face to clear some of the sweat, but his eyes still sting as he watches his brother hover over Castiel.  “I wouldn’t--”

“Wouldn’t load a _full experience battle simulator_ with a guy who’s only had the ability to feel pain for a few weeks?” Dean grinds out.

“Dean,” Castiel says calmly, despite being just as out of breath as Sam, “it wasn’t Sam’s idea.  I asked him to increase the settings.”

“Yeah and you’re getting an ass chewing for that, don’t you worry,” Dean snaps at him.  “But Sam should have fucking said no.”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean.  I wouldn’t let him do something I didn’t think he could handle.”  Although it was probably a stupid idea to let Castiel talk him into it without making sure Dean wasn’t going to fly off the handle first.  

“How would you know what he can handle?”  Dean rises to his feet, and despite the anger radiating from him like heat, he’s gentle when he brings Castiel up with him.  

The careful way Dean touches Castiel is a relief to see.  At least if he’s pissed, it’s just the loud kind that Sam’s learned to ignore.  If he was truly livid he’d be afraid to get within reach of anyone he wanted to deck.  

Of course Sam is far enough away to be safe, and he seems to be the main focus for Dean’s anger.  Which is fine with him, he’ll take the blame if Dean wants to rail at someone for something that’s not really as big a deal as he’s making it out to be.

Castiel seems to be of a different mind.  He jerks free of Dean’s grip, and levels him with a glare that would reduce lesser men to ashes.  “It’s my body, Dean.   _I_ know what I can handle.”

“No you don’t,” Dean argues.  He reaches for Castiel again, but holds his hands up in wordless surrender when the blue glare of death intensifies.  “Cas, you’re only like a month old, you--”

“I am decades older than you,” Castiel cuts in coldly.  “Just because I don’t have all my memories and I’m still learning this body does not make me a child.  So kindly stop treating me like one.”

Sam sees Dean flinch and knows Castiel’s words landed a blow.  

“Cas, I--”

“I’m going to shower.  Alone.”  And Castiel spins on a heel and strides toward the gym’s exit.

Dean watches after him for long seconds after Castiel disappears up the stairs.  Then he lets out the most forlorn sigh Sam has ever witnessed from him and rubs both hands over his face.  “God, why is this so hard?”

The words are muffled, and Sam isn’t sure they’re meant for him.  But he’s here, and he’s been witness to Dean’s behavior since Castiel came home from the hospital after Amara proclaimed him safe to do so.  “Because you love him.”

Dean drops his hands and casts Sam a glare, but there’s not a lot of heat behind it.  “Real groundbreaking, Sam.  Thank you for stating the unhelpful obvious.”

“Don’t be a dick.” Sam punctuates the order with an eyeroll as he crosses the floor mats to a table against the wall that has stacked towels and a couple bottles of water.  He satisfies some of his thirst before wiping his face with a towel and facing his brother again.  “Remember how well being overprotective worked with me?”

“You’re not walking around in a brand new body,” Dean points out.

“Castiel’s body is new, but he wants to learn how to use it the same way we do.  And he’s not going to learn if you don’t let him.”  He tosses the towel over his shoulder and levels a glare back at his brother.  “Remember that time Uncle Bobby lost both his legs?”

“That’s different!” Despite the vehemence in Dean’s voice, his eyes still cut away, guilt creeping into his expression.

“It’s the _exact same thing_ ,” Sam says as reasonably as he can considering how much of an idiot he thinks Dean is being.  “When he got new ones he put in a lot of work to get himself back into fighting shape, and no one was going to talk him out of it.  Not Dad, not us, and not even Rufus was going to make him sit down and rest when he wanted to be up and moving around.”

“But--”

“No buts,” Sam cuts in.  “You’ve been hovering over Cas since he woke up, and instead of telling you to back off like he should, he’s going behind your back to do things he’d rather do with you.”

A bitter smile twists Dean’s lips.  “Oh I see.  So I’m an asshole for trying to keep him safe, but it’s okay for you to encourage him to lie to me?  Nice, Sam.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  Sam throws his hands up in despair and abandons his brother to his idiocy, turning to follow Castiel out of the gym.

A check of the bunker’s systems show him that Castiel has retreated to the bedroom that he used to occupy before he’d moved in with Dean.  It’s not the first time Sam’s found him there in the last few days, and he wonders if Dean recognizes it for the bad sign that it is.  

Castiel has been pretty patient with Dean since he’d returned home in his human body, but Sam has seen his frustration building.  It had started with little things like Dean being controlling about what Castiel is allowed to eat after he’d thrown up a few spicy dishes that hadn’t agreed with his new stomach.  If Sam hadn’t stepped in and offered a plan to work Castiel up from simple foods to more complex meals, Dean might have restricted him to meals that are no better than baby food for months.  And then when Castiel had banged his toes on a corner and collapsed on the floor from the pain, Dean had gotten on his case for going around barefoot.  Once again Sam stepped in and talked Dean down.

For the most part he’s been successful in getting Dean to back down on every point, but he’d been unable to talk Dean out of his snit when Castiel asked about learning to fight.  It’s a skill Castiel will need if he’s going to continue hunting with them.  And Sam has no doubts that Cas is going to want to hunt.  He’s already asked a few times why Sam and Dean have stayed home for so long.  Dean has been brushing it off, but Castiel is just as sharp minded with a biological brain as he was with a positronic one and he sees right through the excuses.  

Maybe it wasn’t Sam’s best idea to say yes when Castiel came to him in secret and asked for private lessons.  But he’d figured that asking forgiveness rather than permission would probably get Castiel further with Dean than he’d been able to so far.  Hopefully that decision won’t blow up in all their faces.  Castiel had wanted to avoid an argument, but it seems like one is going to happen anyway.

These thoughts whirl Sam’s head as he makes his way to Castiel’s room, but the problem remains unresolved by the time he reaches his destination.  He raps his knuckles against the closed door.  “Hey, Cas?  You okay?”

After a few seconds the doorknob turns and Castiel swings the door open.  He’s still sweaty and disheveled from their sparring, and now his eyes are also suspiciously red-rimmed.  He steps aside in silent invitation for Sam to enter.  He closes it behind Sam and leans against it, head dipped low and his eyes on his bare feet.  

Sam doesn’t want to hover--or loom, as Dean has often accused him of--so he crosses the room and sits down on Castiel’s bed.  He picks up a book from the bed stand and smiles at the brightly decorated cover.  Castiel still loves his children’s books.  

Setting it aside, he focuses on Castiel and asks again.  “You okay?”

“I’m a little tired.” Cas lifts his head and smiles weakly.  “And I stink.”

Sam chuckles at Castiel’s attempt at a joke.  “I can’t smell you through my own fumes.”  He considers it a small victory when Castiel’s smile firms into something more genuine, even if it fades quickly.  “Cas, he’ll come around.”

Sighing deeply Castiel straightens from his slump against the door and comes to join Sam on the bed.  From up close it’s even more clear that he’s been crying.  It’d taken him a couple weeks to become accustomed to his emotions enough that he didn’t burst into tears over every wild surge, but it breaks Sam’s heart that he’s reached a point where he feels like he needs to hide them when they happen.  

If Castiel doesn’t start kicking Dean’s ass for being a dick, Sam’s tempted to do it for him.  

“I’m sure he will, eventually,” Castiel agrees quietly.  “But is it wrong that I feel like I shouldn’t have to wait for him to catch up with me?”

“No.” Sam sighs and runs a hand through his sweaty hair.  Cas really gave him a workout today, and Dean would be seriously impressed with him if he’d open his damn eyes and _see_.  “No, you’re not wrong at all.  I’m totally on your side here.”

Six months ago he’d have been horrified to hear himself say that.  Life changes fast.

Now if only Dean would get up to speed.

“I’ll talk to him,” Sam says.  “He can be reasoned with, and I’ve got a lot of experience doing it.”

Castiel chuckles softly, and the humor even reaches his eyes.  Even after a month, Sam hasn’t quite gotten used to the normal irises.  He kind of misses the old ones sometimes, but the new ones are lovely too.  Not that he’d ever say that out loud in Dean’s hearing while he’s being an overprotective asshole.  

“I’m sure you do,” Castiel says.  “But I would rather fight this battle on my own.”

Sam grimaces sympathetically.  “It might turn into an actual fight you know.”

Castiel’s body sags, but the visible signs of dejection disappear quickly and his chin comes up at a stubborn angle that makes Sam think Dean’s in for a shitload of trouble.  “If it comes to that, I won’t back down.”

Sam thinks longingly of the easy days before Castiel’s transformation.  When Dean and Cas usually stood as a team, and Sam was the only thing rocking the boat.  Because watching his brother sabotage his own relationship is far more frustrating than Sam trying to sabotage it for him.

He doubts Dean would appreciate the irony as much as Sam does.

Clapping Castiel on the shoulder, Sam gives him as much encouragement as he can and silently hopes he’s not lying.  “Between the two of us, we’ll get him to come around.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“And in the meantime, just imagine punching him in the face whenever he says something stupid.  That’s how I survived puberty with him hovering over me all the time.”

Castiel’s eyes widen with mock horror.  “But it’s such a handsome face.”

“So? It’ll be a great calming exercise, I promise.”  Sam grins brightly in the face of Castiel’s humor.  “Just imagine decking Dean in his handsome, smug, self-righteous, overprotective, stupid, long eyelashed-”

Laughing so hard he can’t quite stay upright, Castiel crashes their shoulders together.  “Stop, stop! Oh my god…”

Sam laughs along, marveling at how Castiel’s laughter sounds exactly like it did in his synthetic body, and yet his face scrunches up in a completely different way.  He truly is a miracle.  

Briefly he understands why Dean’s being so protective.  Even without being in love with him, Sam can see that Castiel is something unique and special and worth preserving.  But Dean seems to have forgotten that Castiel’s ability to make his own choices was something he originally wanted to protect too.  Love can sometimes be blinding, and Dean’s often led further by his heart than his brain.  

Which Sam is sure will lead him right back to letting Castiel live his life the way he wants.  Dean just needs a little time to get back there again.

“Anyway, I’m going to head for the showers myself.” Sam says when their laughter trails off.  “You gave me a hell of a workout, man.”

“I’ll see you in there in a few minutes then.  I need to stop by Dean’s room to pick up a change of clothes.”

Sam doesn’t miss the fact that it’s no longer “their room”.  Maybe that’ll be the kick in the pants Dean needs to come around to Castiel’s way of thinking.  It’s a shame that the bunker has so many rooms though.  Sam would love to see Castiel relegate Dean to the couch until he pulls his head of his ass.

Outside the room, Sam nearly runs right into Dean.

“Oh, hey.” Dean tries to peer past Sam’s shoulder.  “How bad have I fucked up?”

Well at least he recognizes where the fault lies.  Sam pulls the door shut to give Castiel the privacy he was seeking when he retreated to his old room.  “He’s not too happy with you right now.”

The way Dean’s whole body slouches reminds Sam of a cartoon hound dog being scolded.  “Oh.”

“Look, I’m sorry we went behind your back,” Sam says.  “But he asked me to exercise with him, and yoga and treadmills weren’t doing it for him.  He found the fighting simulations in Moondor interesting and asked me to teach him how to use them.  I figured it’d be better to be there with him than to let him fumble through it on his own.  That way I could keep an eye on him and call it quits if I thought he was pushing himself too hard.”

Dean’s shoulders sink further.  “Yeah that’s… that’s a good idea.”

“And he needs to know how to fight if he’s going to hunt with us,” Sam adds.

All of the fire comes back to Dean all at once.  “He’s _not_ going to hunt with us.”

“Dean--”

But Dean barrells right over him.  “Not any time soon anyway.  He’s barely out of the hospital--”

“ _Dean--_ ”

“And he barely has experience _walking_ much less chasing down monsters!”

Sam’s sore muscles and the phantom memory of a wounded shoulder would argue otherwise.  Maybe Castiel needs to drag Dean into the fighting simulator and whack him around with his staff until he knocks some sense loose in him.  

“He may look like a grown man,” Dean continues, oblivious of how deep he’s digging himself, “but with his new body, he’s basically just a baby in a trenchcoat!”

Behind Sam the door swings open.  Castiel doesn’t look at either of them as he squeezes past Sam and heads for the bathroom in long, angry strides.  

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, wide eyes on Castiel’s stiff shoulders as he turns a corner and slips out of sight.  “I put my foot in it didn’t I?”

“I’d say,” Sam agrees.

For Castiel’s sake, Sam hopes Dean hasn’t shoved his foot so far down his throat that it’s stuck there forever and he can’t manage an apology.  

 

***

 

Turning his face into the warm spray, Castiel holds his breath until his lungs ache and then pushes it all out through his nose.  He lets his head drop down between his shoulders so the water will massage the back of his neck, and he watches water swirl around his feet before joining the tiny vortex around the drain.  

Wiggling the toes of his left foot, he looks for any sign of the damage he’d done when he’d slammed them into the corner of the couch a week ago.  The nanites had done a remarkable job healing them.  The bruises had been completely gone within a few hours.  The pain had been blinding, but gone quickly as his medical nanites dimmed the signals from his nerves.  Chuck had told him he should allow himself to feel as much pain as he can handle so that he can get used to it, but had still programmed his nanites to give him some relief.

He runs a hand over his side where Sam’s digital scimitar had sliced through him.  The skin is smooth and unmarred, and he barely remembers the burning pain the simulation had inflicted on him.  It was the kind of injury that he could have used as an excuse to call an end to the fight, but he’d pushed through it.  Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to do so with a real injury.  Knowing it was simulated kept him upright when he’d wanted to curl in on himself and shield the bleeding wound, but it had still been a relief when the pain had shut off along with the simulation.

If only the growing ache in his chest could be so easily shut off.  But medical nanites can’t soothe heartache, and Dean’s harsh words had not been spoken in a simulation.

Sighing again, he reaches for the soap and lathers himself up quickly.  Sam will be here soon, and as much as Castiel has come to enjoy his company, right now he’d rather not feel the weight of Sam’s pitying looks.  He moves mechanically through a wash and rinse, and is toweling himself dry by the time Sam makes it to the bathroom to take his own shower.

Castiel avoids his gaze by draping a towel over his head and quickly brushing water off his skin with a second one.  Cold patches of skin tell him he’s missed quite a bit of it, but he just wraps the towel around his waist and retreats to his own room.  By the time he reaches it his skin is pebbled from the cold and a mild tremble has started in his muscles.

Most of his clothes are in Dean’s room, but there are still a few pieces in the dresser that he never bothered to move.  He pulls on a set of white boxers, grimacing at the boring color, and covers them with a ratty pair of sweats.  Then he pulls on a red t-shirt that fits too tightly across his chest.  The fabric pulls uncomfortably under his arms, something he wouldn’t have noticed in his synthetic body, and he thinks wistfully of his soft shirts in Dean’s dresser drawers, and his blue robe hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

It’s as much his room as Dean’s but right now he doesn’t want to go in there.  Not even for a better fitting shirt.  What he’s wearing now will suffice.

He tucks the glowing pendant he’s worn since he left the Angel Industries hospital under the shirt, and smiles a little at the way its pale blue light looks purple through the red cloth.  He touches the glow, and the texture of the cloth against the tips of his fingers reminds him why he made the decision to leave his robotic body behind.  

The pendant is all that remains of his old life.  A reminder of how small he used to be.

The ache in his chest eases and he takes a cleansing breath.  

He made the right choice.  

Dean is only trying to protect Castiel out of love.  

Castiel loves him for that.

But Castiel is not going to--as Dean would say it--put up with his shit.

His stomach growls, distracting him from thoughts of Dean.  He needs to eat soon before a little growling turns into a growing pit of starvation.  Since he’d rather not experience that any time soon, he hurries to the kitchen.  It had taken him a few days to separate hunger pains from the healing aches of having his umbilical removed, but a month out and he’s already a slave to his stomach’s whims.  

Which delights Dean and amuses Sam.  Castiel isn’t sure how he feels about it.

He likes food though.  A lot.  Even if his stomach wasn’t so demanding, he’d happily munch through anything edible put in front of him.  Despite having problems with spicier foods at first, he has yet to find anything he doesn’t like.

And the textures of different foods in his mouth.  Oh how _wonderful_.  

He slides to a stop just inside the kitchen when he finds it occupied.  The sweet smell of warm peanut butter hits his senses just as Dean turns around with a plate stacked high with toasted peanut butter sandwiches.  Despite not being entirely sure he’s ready to confront Dean yet, his feet move automatically, carrying him toward the kitchen island.

Dean sets the plate in front of him as Castiel takes a seat on one of the tall stools.  “I figured you’d be hungry after that workout.  I made your favorite.”

Castiel answers by picking up the top sandwich.  Melted peanut butter drips from between the crusted bread and slides warm down his fingers, and he’s already looking forward to licking them clean.  But he takes a huge bite of the bread first and moans around the sticky sweetness.

The sound makes Dean smile, although worry still furrows his brow.  “Want some almond milk?”

Since his tongue is already nearly glued to the roof of his mouth, Castiel only answers with a nod.

Dean pours him a large glass and sets it next to the plate of sandwiches.  He stays on the other side of the island, and Castiel doesn’t want to feel grateful for the space, but he is.  

Half the sandwich is gone before Castiel washes it down with the milk and he moans again as the nutty flavors mix in his mouth.  He drinks down enough to uncement his tongue, and finally gives Dean his attention.  “Thank you.”

“No problem, bud.”

There’s affection, warm as melted peanut butter, coating those words.  Another ache rises up in Castiel’s chest.  But it’s pleasant.  The same ache he associates with overwhelming emotions that Castiel can only identify as love, because it always hits him when he’s looking at Dean.

As irritated as Castiel is with Dean’s overprotective behavior lately, there’s no doubt that Castiel still loves him.  More than almost anything else he’s ever experienced.  Even toasted peanut butter sandwiches and almond milk.

Companionable silence falls over the kitchen as Castiel finishes his meal.  Dean refills his glass, making sure he has enough to wash down the second sandwich.  And he watches with a fond smile as Castiel licks the peanut butter from his fingers.

When his stomach is now uncomfortable from being overfull, Castiel pushes the plate and its third sandwich away.  Dean grabs it for himself and takes a bite, and uses his free hand to get a warm wet cloth for Castiel to wash his hands with.  He also drinks the last of Castiel’s milk, and then starts cleaning up the crumbs that scattered across the counter during their meal.

As he putters around the kitchen cleaning up the mess he made while cooking, Castiel decides it’s time to break the silence.  “Dean, I want to be a Hunter.”

Dean’s shoulders go stiff, but he doesn’t turn away from the sink as he rinses the plate he just washed.  “I know.”

“Why are you being stubborn about this?”

With a sigh, Dean puts the clean plate in the rack and turns to Cas while he dries his hands on a towel.  Lines of worry fan out around his eyes.  “I just don’t want you to rush into it.  I want you to live a little first.  A normal, monster-free life.”

“If I don’t care about that for myself, why is it so important to you?”

Dean looks down at the towel in his hands.  “You know why.”

“You can’t let your feelings for me dictate my life.”  When Dean keeps his head down and doesn’t say anything Castiel sighs.  He slides off the stool and turns away from the man who might love him too much for both of their good.  “I’m going to go read, or something,” he murmurs.

“Cas, wait.”

He stops before he feels the weight of Dean’s hand on his shoulder, but doesn’t turn his head to look at him.  “Dean, I--”

“Let’s go down to the gun range.”

Castiel’s head whips around and he stares at Dean.  He hasn’t grown another head, but it feels like it would be an appropriate thing for Castiel to witness at this point.  “What?  Really?”

“Yeah, really.”  Dean’s lips curl up in a tentative smile.  “Hunters need to know how to use guns, right?”

A wave of relief and happiness collide inside of Castiel and the corners of his eyes sting with the abundance of emotion.  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Dean wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and he guides him out of the kitchen.  He doesn’t let go for the whole trip down to the basements, past the gym, and into the gun range in the deepest section of the bunker.  He even seems to have a bounce to his step and moves with an energy Castiel hasn’t witnessed in him since the disagreements had started building up between them.

Castiel has a hard time paying attention to everything Dean tells him as he unlocks the safe and picks out a handgun.  Dean’s bright expression and cheerful smiles are far more interesting than learning how to load the gun and how to turn the safety on and off.  He forces himself to watch Dean’s hands instead of Dean’s face, and it helps him focus on the lessons.  He doesn’t really need Dean to explain these things to him, since he remembers all of it from before.  But gun safety is important, and if Dean thinks he needs a refresher, Castiel isn’t going to argue.

Soon he’s got the gun in his hands, pointed at the target hanging halfway down the range, much closer than he thinks he needs it to be.  Dean’s body is hot and firm against his as he helps Castiel arrange his arms properly.  His voice is a low rumble in Castiel’s ear as he explains how to sight along the barrel.  And Castiel’s body reacts as if he’s not holding a deadly weapon that he might accidentally shoot himself with if Dean doesn’t stop being such a distraction.

But clarity of mind returns when Dean finally steps back, giving him space.  

The gun is heavier than he expected it to be.  And the kick when he squeezes the trigger sends a jolt of pain through his palm, along his arm, slamming into his shoulder and knocking his aim off.

He doesn’t even hit the target.

“Fuck.”

Dean chuckles and steps close again.  “Just practice, Cas.  You’ll get back to blasting away shapeshifters in no time.”  He helps Castiel rearrange his limbs into the correct position again, then moves away.  “Try again.”

It takes two reloads for Castiel to even hit the target.  And it’s not even in the lines of the humanoid body printed on it.  He lets his arms slump down, careful to keep his finger away from the trigger.  “I used to be good at this.”

“You used to have a precision machine for a body,” Dean reminds him.  The lightness that has been in his voice since they came down to the gun range is gone, replaced with the same lecturing tone he pulls out whenever he’s about to tell Castiel not to do something.  “I’m not trying to be a dick by asking you to slow down on the hunting stuff, Cas.  It takes a while to train a flesh and blood body to do shit like this, even when you’ve lived in that body for years.”

Castiel glares at him, and pushes away the brief temptation to point the gun at Dean’s foot and pull the trigger.  “I’m doing fine with everything else.”

“Sure you are, bud.”

Glaring harder, Cas says “meet me in the combat simulator and I’ll show you.”

That earns him a bark of laughter and the light comes back to Dean’s eyes.  “Yeah okay, I saw you earlier.  You’ve got some moves.”

Yes, he has moves.  And he’d really like to show some of them to Dean right now.  He flicks his thumb over the safety and sets the gun on the low wall separating him from the open space of the gun range.  Something in his expression must give Dean a warning of what’s about to come because his pupils expand and his lips part on soft gasp.

It’s all the sound he’s able to make before Castiel is covering Dean’s mouth with his own.  Dean’s lips part immediately and Castiel presses inward, tasting the last hints of peanut butter clinging to Dean’s tongue.  The sweet flavor makes him groan, and he grips Dean’s hips hard, pulling him close.  

The thin cloth of Castiel’s sweats are hardly any kind of barrier, but Dean is clad in denim which only gives him a hint of hardness.  He scrabbles to open Dean’s fly and shoves his hand inside, grinning sharply against Dean’s lips when he gasps.

He strokes Dean to full hardness and relishes all the little noises he pulls from Dean.  Turning Dean into putty in his hands is a skill that he was able to utilize immediately after his transition, no practice required.  Although hardly a day has gone by that they haven’t practiced anyway.  Hormonal surges often have Castiel shoving Dean into any dark corner where they won’t offend Sam’s sensibilities, and sometimes he’s so overwhelmed with lust he doesn’t even bother with privacy.

Sam would probably hate him if Dean didn’t have some control over himself and get them out of public spaces when Castiel isn’t capable of thinking straight.

He briefly hopes that Sam doesn’t decide to come down and check on them, because this is one of those times.

“Turn around,” Castiel orders, surprised at the roughness of his own voice.  He barely sounds like himself.

The low pitch snaps Dean into action.  He turns and braces his hands on the low wall nearby, and he looks over his shoulder with dark eyes and speaks with damp, swollen lips.  “You gonna fuck me, Cas?”

Not exactly.  Dean has often told him that he doesn’t always require lube, but Castiel doesn’t want to rely just on spit.  But that’ll provide him enough moisture for what he does have in mind.  He tugs at Dean’s pants, shoving them down around his thighs before pushing his own pants down just enough to free his aching cock.  

He spits into his hand, sparing a lamenting thought for the lubrication his robotic body could produce, before stroking himself.  He gasps at the touch.  Masturbation is a very enjoyable pastime in a human body, something that he and Dean have experimented with together several times.  Still, it’s not his hand that he wants right now.

“Press your legs together.”

Dean’s jaw sags open, but he obeys.  “Yeah, Cas.  Gimme your cock.”

It’s an order Castiel is eager to obey.  He closes the space between them, and holds Dean steady with one hand on his hip, while guiding himself toward the heat of Dean’s body.  The head of his cock slides easily between Dean’s cheeks and Castiel presses against his hole.  It loosens under the pressure Castiel exerts, and with a little work he could slip inside that tight vise.  Dean would let him.  And he’d enjoy it.  He practically begs to be fucked sometimes.

And Castiel will give him that the next time they’ve got access to proper lube.  For now, he retreats and slides his cock down until it slides between Dean’s thighs and bumps up against the back of his balls.  

Dean pushes back against him.  “Do it, Cas.  Come on.  Dirty me up.”

Castiel grips his hips with both hands now, forcing him to stop moving.  “Hold still.”

He hears a quiet “fuck yeah” as Dean drops his head to hang between his shoulders.  Castiel fucks the space between his thighs, not bothering to start slow or gentle.  He knows Dean’s limits, and his own body is demanding release now.   _Now._

Even with his new sensitivity, _now_ is something he has to work towards, especially in this position.  He grunts as his hips slap hard and quick against Dean’s thighs, and he gasps when Dean starts egging him on, begging him to come, to get him wet between his legs.

And then his orgasm is upon him, rolling through his belly, expanding through his body.  He shudders through it, his movements stuttering to a halt.  When Dean turns in his arms his knees almost give out.  And actually he’d very much like to be on his knees right now, thank you very much.  He slides to the floor and tilts his face up, staring up at Dean as he jacks his own cock.

“Fuck, Cas look at you,” Dean breathes and then his eyes squeeze shut and he comes in hot stripes over Castiel’s cheeks and mouth.  

Dean leans back against the low wall as he catches his breath and he grins down at Castiel.  “You okay down there, bud?”

Actually no.  Castiel’s pretty sure he could lay down on the concrete floor right now and nap for an hour, if not sleep through the rest of the night.  Between the vigorous sparring with Sam, and the usual lethargy that follows sex, he’s positive he won’t be disturbed by odd dreams when he does finally fall asleep.  

“I think I’m ready for bed.”

“Yeah, you look it.  Come on.”  Dean reaches down and helps Castiel back to his feet.  “Let’s get upstairs before you pass out.”

“I’m not in danger of passing out,” Castiel says.  When he notices Dean’s grin, he sighs.  “Figure of speech.”

“Yup.”  Dean wrinkles his nose and looks down at his damp hand.  “Ugh, this is going to be fun to walk around with until we get upstairs.”

Castiel pulls off his uncomfortably tight shirt and wipes his face with it.  Then he passes it to Dean.  Once they’re cleaned up, he leans on Dean as they make their way up through the levels of the bunker and to their shared room.  Dean settles him on the bed before helping him remove his clothes.  Castiel is mostly asleep by the time Dean strips down as well and joins him.

Dean snuggles close, tucking his face into Castiel’s throat.  It’s difficult for Castiel to sleep while cuddling, so he floats in a half-asleep doze while Dean gets the physical comfort he requires post coitus.  So he’s awake enough to notice when Dean starts fiddling with the pendant resting on Castiel’s chest.  He’s witness to Dean lifting it to his lips and kissing it before carefully putting it back in its place against Castiel’s skin.  And then Dean presses another kiss over Castiel’s heart.

The moment follows him into sleep.

He dreams.  

He knows it’s a dream because he’s in the brothel.  Because the memories Chuck had retrieved for him are even more fragmentary since being transferred into his human brain, the brothel and its inhabitants are unclear.  It’s a sense of knowing rather than recognition.  The darkness surrounding him _is_ the brothel.  When he dreams of the bunker there is light and color and shape.  The brothel is shadow and vague movements and flashes of faces, some he can name and others strangers.  Clients.

Naomi.

_“This is the most useless piece of you,” She says as she fingers the pendant.  “You should throw it out, like I did.”_

_“Keep it to remember where you came from,” Chuck says softly.  “You’ve come so far.”_

_Castiel slaps Naomi’s hand away, and a distorted mask of her face grows in front of him.  “Useless trash, Castiel.  Useless trash.”_

He jerks away from her and blinks his eyes in the dark of Dean’s room.  The sunstrips are fully dark, so it must be deep night.  Not even the pale glow of his pendant breaks through the gloom.  He and Dean have rolled away from each other in their sleep.  Dean on his side facing the edge of the bed, and Castiel onto his stomach like he always does when the weight of Dean’s body doesn’t hold him in place.  He lifts his head and a sliver of light escapes from where his body has pressed it into the mattress.

Slowly he rolls onto his back and he sits up.  He fingers the amulet and thinks about how much his life has changed since the information loaded in the tube of positronics was programmed into the gray matter residing in his head now.  He gained the ability to feel physical sensations, and it’s everything he dreamed it would be and more.  It’s a decision he’s so grateful to have been able to make that it brings tears to his eyes every time he thinks about it.

The blue glow blurs and he wipes moisture from his eyes.  Even being able to cry is a gift.

He has everything he wants.

Except freedom.

He turns and looks at the shadow of Dean’s body on the other side of the bed.  Dean’s soft snores make him smile and more tears flow down his cheeks.

Before his transition, Dean _was_ his freedom.  His advocate.  Always pushing him to make his own decisions and live as he wanted, not as he should.  

Since he’d become human things have changed.  He knows it’s because Dean loves him, and wants to keep him safe.  But Castiel is beginning to feel stifled.

Tonight they’d made progress.  Dean loosened up about the combat training, and surprised Castiel by taking him down to the gun range.  And Castiel knows that Dean is going to keep making progress.  He loves Castiel.  He wants Castiel to be happy, and he’ll let go of his own fears to make sure that Castiel gets that happiness.

But he’s not doing it at the pace Castiel wants to take.  And he doesn’t really want to take Sam’s advice to fight against Dean’s bullheadedness.  More than just Dean’s attitude has to change.

He knows a way to bring about change.  Dean’s not going to like it.  Sam probably won’t either, although Castiel suspects that he’ll still support it, even if reluctantly.  

Castiel sends a signal to the sunstrips, commanding them to stay dark as he stands up from the bed.  With his cybernetic enhancements the light from his pendant is enough for him to do what he needs to do.  He moves quickly, but silent.

Dean’s snores don’t stop as Castiel leaves the room a short time later.  

 

***

 

A shiver jolts Dean out of his sleep, and he blinks into the darkness.  At some point he’d kicked off the blankets, and he tugs them back over his shoulder and then scoots backwards in search of Castiel’s body heat.  He scooches a little more.  And a little more.  

He sits upright and triggers the sunstrips when he realizes that he’ll fall off the edge of the bed before he reaches Castiel.  

“Cas?”

A scan of the room tells him he’s not going to get a response, so he checks the bunker’s systems to see where Cas is.  Probably got up to pee.  Dude’s brand new bladder is the size of a grape.

He’s not in the bunker.

“What the hell?”  Dean throws the blankets back and stands as he checks the system again.  When he still doesn’t show up in the bunker, he pings Cas directly.

He gets a message bounceback.

 

_Dean,_

_Please don’t be angry.  I’m not leaving you.  I’m just leaving the bunker for a little while.  I’ll come back eventually._

_I love you._

_Cas._

_PS: I left something for you.  Please take care of it for me._

 

Dean reads the message again and again, and then scans it for an origin point.  It came from the bunker’s network, more than an hour ago.

He pings Cas again, but it doesn’t go through.  Text and voice are both ignored.  

The fact that he’s not blocked is not a relief.

He hurries over to the dresser and grabs a pair of pants, slipping them on commando, nearly tripping as he tries to walk to the door while still pulling them on.  But he stops when his eyes land on the doorknob.

Castiel’s pendant hangs from the knob.  

His fingers almost feel numb as he scoops up the little positronic tube.  It’s Castiel’s personality core.  Everything that made him Cas, held in a thumb sized piece of tech that’s worth more money than Dean will ever see in his lifetime.  And all the more precious for the data that it contains.  

He closes his fingers around it, and squeezes his eyes shut against any sliver of blue light that might escape his fist.  “Oh Cas,” he whispers into the empty room.  “I’m so sorry.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel starts out on his own. Dean deals with the consequences of his actions.

Even though the dome over the city should be illuminated with synthetic early morning sunlight, the narrow streets leading to Gabriel’s shop are still dark as midnight as Castiel navigates them.  The headlight of Sam's motorcycle occasionally reveals people scuttling away from the wide beam, sometimes betraying inhuman eyes with colorful reflections before they disappear back into the shadows.  Castiel pays them little mind as long as they continue to retreat from his presence.  

The area directly around Gabriel's shop is eerily deserted, but the absence of loiterers is explained when a hulking shape next to the door shifts and then rises to its full height.  Red-lit eyes focus on him, and Castiel sighs.

Golem's presence means that Aaron is manning the shop instead of Gabriel.  Which isn't a surprise considering the early hour, but Castiel had hoped to deal with Gabriel directly.  Despite Dean's warning to treat him with respect, Aaron constantly forgets that Castiel is anything other than a high end brothel android.  Mostly he just acts like Castiel is as unintelligent as Golem, talking around him or referring to Castiel as “it” rather than his preferred masculine pronouns.  

Castiel usually ignores Aaron just as thoroughly, but now that he's human and he can actually _feel_ irritation, he's not looking forward to dealing with him.

Pulling his borrowed goggles and mask off, Castiel eyes Golem warily.  “Is the shop open?”

The security bot's face is not detailed enough to display any reaction, but it still gives the impression that its gaze grows heavier on Castiel.  “Yes.”

Well at least he won't need to wait until later in the morning to accomplish his business.  He dismounts from the bike and issues the command to engage its security protocols. Even with such precautions he'd be uncomfortable leaving it alone in such a dangerous area, but Golem presents enough of a threat to protect it from thieves for the short time he'll need to conduct his business and leave.

He unhooks his duffle from the bike, slinging its light weight over his shoulder, and approaches the shop. Golem's eyes follow him, probably scanning for weapons, but the contents of Castiel's bag don't set off its security warnings.  The collapsible staff tucked into Castiel's sleeve also doesn't raise an alarm, to Castiel's relief.  He'd rather not be delayed by a protective security bot.  He needs as much of a head start as possible to avoid Dean coming after him.

The inside of the shop is just as dim and crowded as usual and Castiel moves carefully through the gauntlet of delicately balanced junk until he reaches the open space at the back.  Aaron is lounging in Gabriel’s chair, feet up on the counter, eyes unfocused and biocircuitry flickering in geometric patterns under his skin.  He jumps and nearly falls from his seat when Castiel knocks on the counter to get his attention.  But he smiles brightly when he focuses on Castiel.

“Cas, hey!” His eyes search the piles of junk behind him.  “Is Dean on his way in?”

The urge to roll his eyes is strong, but Castiel resists for the moment. “He’s not with me.”

Aaron blinks slowly.  “He sent you here on his own?

He doesn’t know if Aaron is aware that he’s no longer an android, and he doesn’t really have time to educate him.  “No, I’m here of my own volition.”  He swings his duffle off his shoulder and unzips it.  “I have something to sell.”

Aaron frowns, first at Castiel then at the plain box he sets on the counter between them.  “Uhh, what?”

Dean often insists that Aaron is a ‘cool kid’, but Castiel has serious doubts about that assessment.  “I want to sell these.  How much can you get me for them?”

The confusion doesn’t clear from Aaron’s expression, but he does at least pull the box closer and opens it.  His eyes go wide and he picks it up to get a closer look.  He plucks one of the replacement eyes Chuck and Jimmy had given Castiel out of the soft foam casing and holds it up.  “Are these for real?”

“Yes, and they’re brand new and unused,” Castiel says.  “How much?”  

Aaron lowers the synthetic eye and the box and fixes Castiel with a suspicious look.  “Are these yours to sell?”

A strange grinding in Castiel’s ears nearly startles him, and he realizes he’s clenching his teeth to the point of making his jaw ache.  With an effort he relaxes and the sound stops.  “Of course they are.”

“Um… maybe I should call Dean?” Aaron says, and the biocircuitry at this temple blinks.

Castiel reaches across the counter and curls his fingers in Aaron’s shirt, jerking him forward until they’re almost nose to nose.  “You should _not_ call Dean.  If you can’t handle this transaction yourself, get Gabriel.”

It’s potentially unsafe to work directly with Gabriel as well, but Castiel believes he’ll help or he wouldn’t have come here.  Castiel no longer has the same risk assessment software, but he believes Gabriel will very likely take his side just to spite Dean.

“Gabriel’s not--”

Castiel cuts him off with a shake.  “Get him.”

Aaron jerks free of Castiel’s grasp.  “Are you malfunctioning?  I’m calling Dean--”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Castiel murmurs.  “I’m not Dean’s property.  And I’m a human, you ass.”  He decides he’s not going to get anything from Aaron and opens a line directly to Gabriel.  

 _“H’lo? Castiel?”_ Gabriel’s digital voice is slurred with lingering sleep.   _“What’s up, bro?”_

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I’m downstairs and I need your assistance,” Castiel says out loud while leveling a glare at Aaron.

 _“You’re what?”_ Gabriel snuffles and sounds a little more alert when he speaks again.   _“I’ll be down in a minute._ ”

Aaron crosses his arms over his chest and glares back at Castiel.  “Dean’s probably going to wipe your drive when he finds out what you’re doing.”

Castiel ignores him.  He has no way to prove to Aaron what he is now, short of cutting himself and showing the flesh under his skin.  

Soon the uneasy silence is broken by the clump of Gabriel rushing down the stairs.  He looks ruffled and sleepy when he appears through the door leading to the back of the shop, but he grins brightly when his eyes land on Castiel.  “Cas-a-fras!  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Aaron snorts but backs away, relinquishing his spot behind the counter to Gabriel.

“I need to sell these,” Castiel says, pushing the boxed eyes a few inches across the counter.  “Your assistant was being less than helpful.”

Gabriel’s brow crinkles in a mild frown, but then jumps toward his hairline when he flips up the lid on the box.  He lets out a low whistle.  “These are worth a pretty penny, Cas.  You planning on doing something fun with the credits?”

Briefly, Castiel wishes he still had his risk assessment software.  He’d been learning to make decisions without it before he’d switched bodies, but having a percentage of chance of success would be comforting right now.  “I need them to support myself.”

Gabriel’s golden gaze lifts and he stares at Castiel with an unreadable expression.  “You’re moving out of the bunker?”

“Yes.” He hesitates over how much to share with Gabriel, and decides that he doesn’t want to tell him anything unless asked.  “At least temporarily,” he adds.

After a few seconds of thoughtful silence, Gabriel grins widely again.  “No problem, Cassie.  I can fill your bank account for these.”

“I would like anonymous credits,” Castiel says.

Gabriel’s grin doesn’t waver even though his eyes grow serious.  “No problem.”

“You’re really going to sell those to an android?”  Aaron asks.

“Of course I am.  They belong to him, and he wants to trade them for money,” Gabriel says as he spins away from the counter, taking the box with him.  He turns just enough to wink in Castiel’s direction, out of Aaron’s sight.  He knows Castiel is human, but apparently he’s decided it’s not worth trying to convince the younger man otherwise.  “I’m sure he’s going to spend at least some of it on a huge surprise for Dean, right Castiel?”

“Something like that,” Castiel responds warily.

Gabriel chuckles and shakes his head, but directs his next words to Aaron.  “Do me a favor kiddo.  Run to the back office and bring me my second lock box.  This one doesn’t have enough anonymous credit chits for this transaction.”

It’s clear that Aaron doesn’t agree with Gabriel’s decision to hand such a large chunk of money to “an android”, but he only grumbles lightly as he slips through the door to the back office.  Gabriel ignores him and brings a large cash box out from under the counter and scans his thumb over it to unlock it.  

“So what’s this really about?” Gabriel asks softly.  “Did Dean do something to drive you away?”

Of course Gabriel would guess correctly.  All the tension leaves Castiel’s body and he sags against the counter.  A weight in his chest shifts, and he’s able to breathe easier.  Relief maybe?  He considers it a good thing that he no longer needs to keep his plans a secret, so that must be what he’s feeling right now.  “Not exactly.  He’d rather I stayed locked up in the bunker.”

“Ahhh slipping your leash, huh?” Gabriel pulls out a credit chit and scans it over his palm.  A holographic of a balance sheet pops up over his hands and the numbers climb steadily as he loads it with credits.  “Not too surprising.  He used to pull that same bullshit with Sam when they were younger.  Caused them both a lot of grief for a few years.”  

“You knew them then?” Castiel asks curiously.  Sam has mentioned Dean’s past overbearing nature now and then, but Castiel found it hard to believe as he’d never seen evidence of it until now.  He’d thought Sam was pulling his leg, but he’s not happy to find out it wasn’t a joke.

“Oh yeah, I’ve know them for decades.” Gabriel’s eyes twinkle with humor.  “Since they were a couple of gangly teens, actually.  Kinda felt like a cradle robber when Sam started coming on to me, but he wore me down eventually.  It helped that he filled out like an oak tree that I frequently enjoy climbing.”  

He bounces his eyebrows suggestively and Castiel grins in response.  Other than Dean, Castiel has never felt attraction toward anyone, even with his new biological sex drive, but there’s no denying that Sam is aesthetically pleasing.  

“Anyway, those two went through a lot after their parents died, and they nearly destroyed their relationship a few times,” Gabriel says.  “I’d thought Dean would’ve learned his lesson.  But it’s been a while, and people can get a little crazy when it comes to love.”  When the balance shows a number with an impressive number of zeroes that Castiel suspects may be more than the synthetic eyes are actually worth, Gabriel waves away the hologram and holds the card out to him with a small flourish of his wrist and a wink.  “I’m happy to help give him a refresher.”

Castiel accepts the small square of plastic, and as soon as his thumb brushes over the center a notification pops up on his internal display.  The credits are anonymous as he requested, but he’s known Gabriel long enough that he doesn’t expect them to be tracker free.  “You don’t need a second credit chit?”

“Nah, I just needed Aaron to scram for a bit.”

Convenient.  Castiel is grateful.  He’s also wary.  “You won’t share this information with Dean and Sam will you?”

Gabriel presses a hand over his chest and gasps dramatically.  “Castiel! Are you accusing me of spying for the enemy?”

“Yes.” Castiel smiles at his friend.  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t care enough to try.”

Gabriel drops the offended act and grins back.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“As long as that’s what you tell Dean if he comes looking for me,” Castiel warns.

“You mean ‘when’,” Gabriel snorts.  “Don’t worry Cassie, your secret is safe with me as long as I know you’re safe.”  He holds up a staying hand when Castiel opens his mouth to argue.  “Dude, we’re practically brothers now, and I don’t have a lot of family left in the world anymore.  I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but I’m going to be there for you when you need me.  That’s what family does.”

It’s impossible to argue with him because Castiel would do the same if the situation were reversed.  And while he does want to strike out on his own, he doesn’t want to be completely cut off from everyone he knows.  He doesn’t even really want to cut himself off from Dean, and the ache inside his chest has been growing steadily worse since he left their shared bed.  

The ache blooms behind his eyes too, and his vision blurs.  He rubs the tears away with the back of his hand and tries to maintain his smile, although it feels wobbly on his lips.  “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel leans over the counter and wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, even though the angel is uncomfortable for a proper hug.  “Any time, Castiel.” His eyes look a little misty when he pulls back, but he’s all bravado.  “So do you have any idea where you’re going from here?”

He’d made a list of things he’ll need to accomplishment.  He left most of his belongings behind so he wouldn’t have to carry much on the motorcycle, so he’ll need clothes.  He’ll also need weapons aside from the collapsible staff hidden up his sleeve, and he’ll need food and a residence.  

Gabriel can help probably help him with a few more things on his list.  “Maybe you could point me towards a safe place to stay?  And I’ll need some supplies.”

“Hell yeah, let’s get you set up!”

He leaves the shop an hour later with new weapons tucked under the folds of his trench coat, and an address for an apartment complex with vacancies.  The area is more crowded now that more shops have opened for the morning, and Castiel’s stomach growls when he catches a savory scent wafting from nearby food vendors.  He decides breakfast is in order, and then he’ll visit Krissy’s shop for a few more changes of clothes before he heads to his new home.

xxx

A puff of dust rises up from the bedspread when Castiel drops his much heavier duffle bag on it, and his grimace is interrupted by a series of sneezes that leave his eyes itchy and nose running.  He grumbles about the condition of the small apartment as he makes his way into the tiny closet of a bathroom in search of tissues, but there’s little heat behind it.  The place is inexpensive and he believes Gabriel’s reassurances that it’s safe, despite the condition of the neighborhood.  

And despite the dust, the room is in good repair.  The sink, shower, and toilet all function, and the water runs clear.  The little kitchenette has a working mini fridge and hot plate, and there’s a small chest of drawers under the bed, and a table for two in the far corner.  It’s much more than he expected to find on his own for far less money, and he’s sure that has something to do with Gabriel’s influence.  But he won’t question any help the junk dealer offers.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” he mutters as he pulls the top blanket from the bed and gets another face full of sneeze inducing dust.  He doesn’t know what the idiom actually means aside from its common usage, but looking up the origin of the strange turn of phrase distracts him from the discomfort in his sinuses while he goes about dusting surfaces.  

The sheets and thinner second blanket on the bed will service his needs for now, so the dusty top blanket gets set aside for washing later.  Then he turns his attention to unpacking his belongings.  

The new clothes he purchased from Krissy’s shop fill two of the three drawers, and he smiles as he folds his new brightly colored underwear.  She didn’t have any in orange, but he’d found some lovely blues and reds, and even some green boxers with pink flowers that he thinks are probably going to be his favorite.  They remind him of the orange floral dress he’d left behind at the bunker.

Thinking of the home he left behind wipes away the warmth in his chest over the colorful boxers, and he finishes the rest of the task quickly and shuts them away.  He presses a palm over his heart and counts the dull thuds until the swollen feeling in his throat recedes and his tear ducts no longer sting.  

It hasn’t even been a full day, and he’s ready to call it quits on this venture and return home.  But instead of repacking his new clothes into his duffel and leaving the small apartment he continues putting his belongings away.  He brought the two books he rereads the most from the bunker, and he runs his thumb over the ragged edges for a moment.  He flips open The Velveteen Rabbit to a page near the end and reads the part where the Rabbit leaves the boy to live his new life after he becomes real.  Castiel wonders if the Rabbit ever feels the same yearning ache in his chest as Castiel does right now.  

He shuts the book and sets it on the tiny table next to the bed.  Then he starts putting the weapons he’d purchased from Gabriel and various vendors in the third drawer.

Several knives of varying metals, three tasers, a plastic pistol, a handgun similar to the one Dean favors, and a sawed off shotgun all go into the third drawer.  He stacks several boxes of ammunition next to them, and then sits back on his heels to contemplate his collection.  The pistols won’t be much use to him unless he gets more practice, but the shotgun should make up for his lack of aiming skills.  Plus it’s small enough to hide under his trench coat.

He’s most comfortable with the knives and the collapsible staff Sam gifted him when they started sparring together, so he’ll probably use them more than the guns.  Especially since he won’t have access to a shooting range now that he’s not staying in the bunker.  There’s not very much room to practice fighting in the apartment either--he can almost reach out and touch the door while sitting on the bed--but he should be able to access VR environments as long as he keeps his movements small and his arms close to his sides.  Not that he expects to access Moondor or Oz while he’s on his own, but at least he’ll have the option if needed.

With a groan, Castiel unfolds his legs and rises from the floor.  He winces when his left knee pops and his toes start to tingle with pins and needles.  Even a body less than two months old is susceptible to tiny aches and pains from everyday activities.

He sits on the bed and nudges his shoes off with his tingling toes and wiggles them until the pins and needles recede.  Looking around the tiny room, he wonders what he should do next.

“Maybe there is such thing as too much freedom,” he murmurs to himself.  

He could go find a food market to fill the little fridge.  Maybe get himself some soaps and towels for the bathroom.  Or he could start sifting through the overnet for a hunt.  

Instead of doing any of those things he stays seated on the bed and pulls up his messages.  His log is full missed calls from both Sam and Dean, as well as several texts.  He dismisses all of them except the last one from Dean.

_Please call me, Cas.  Let’s just talk okay?_

He initiates a call.

xxx

“Are you going to drink it or stare at it until it evaporates?”

Dean doesn’t look up from the full glass in front of him.  “Since when do you encourage drinking, Sammy?”

“I don’t.” A shadow falls over Dean as Sam walks around the table and sits across from him.  “But that’s Uncle Bobby’s favorite, and he’ll be upset if you waste it and there’s none for him the next time he visits.”

Without looking at his brother, Dean shoots back the amber liquid, and puts the cap on the decanter.  He keeps his eyes lowered, unwilling to face the pity he knows will be all over Sam’s face.  He’d like to down another few shots to numb the burning shame under his skin, but there’s a small part of him that doesn’t want to be completely fuckered up if Cas decides to come back home.

“He’ll be okay, Dean,” Sam says softly.

Dean grunts in response.  He’s got a list of reasons why Sam is probably dead wrong, but he’s trying not to think about them, so he leaves them unvoiced.

“He’s been hunting with us for months, he knows what he’s doing.  And he was kicking my ass at sparring after a couple weeks.  He’s not helpless.”

As if less than a year of experience is enough.  Or a fight with someone out to really kill him will be anything like a sparring match in a controlled environment.  Grinding his teeth is the only thing that keeps Dean from going on a shouting tangent about all the reasons Castiel _will absolutely not_ be okay.  

He’d be proud of his restraint if he wasn’t hanging onto his temper _and_ sobriety by the skin of his teeth.  One wrong word--hell, one wrong _look_ \--and Dean was going to fly off the fucking handle.

“Dean--”

And there it is.  

Dean’s empty glass shatters against the far wall, cutting off whatever platitudes Sam was about to ply him with.  He surges to his feet and pins his brother with an acid glare.  “No, Sam, no.  I am not okay, Cas is probably not going to be okay on his own, and nothing about this whole fucking situation is okay.  But I’m going to _fucking deal with it_ , and it’ll be a helluva lot easier if you’ll save the goddamn lecture.  I don’t need it.”

Sam’s expression turns thunderous and instead of backing down like the egghead genius he normally is, he also rises from his seat and leans over the table, hands braced on the surface like he’s about to launch himself over it.  “Don’t take this out on me, asshole.  Cas is gone because of your actions, not mine.  I’m worried about him too, but I’ve also got _you_ to deal with.  I’m not going to walk around on eggshells, and I’m not going to take your shit either.  If you don’t want to talk, fine.  But don’t be a dick to me for caring.”

“Yeah right,” Dean snaps.  “There’s no way you won’t be following me around trying to get me to talk about my goddamn feelings until I’m ready to knock your teeth out to shut you up.”

“Bring it on,” Sam growls.

Dean’s fists are already curling in temptation to throw at his brother’s ugly mug, but a notification on his internal display freezes him.  He forgets all about his fight with Sam and accepts the connection immediately.  “Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Every muscle in Dean’s body sags with relief and he’s lucky there’s a chair under his ass or he would have ended up on the floor.  His voice is wobbly when he speaks, but he’s too happy to hear Castiel’s gruff greeting that he can’t even care.  “Heya, Cas.”

“How are you?”

Not in the mood for small talk, that’s for fuckin’ sure.  But he swallows back the angry retort that comes to mind and answers honestly.  “Kind of in a shitty mood right now.  You?”

Across the table, Sam takes his seat again and listens quietly.  He looks calm, but Dean can see the eager curiosity behind the mask.

“I… think I might be homesick.”  Now there’s a distinct wobble in Castiel’s voice.  “My chest and throat ache, and it gets worse when I think of home.”  

Hearing Castiel refer to the bunker as home fills a tiny portion of the gaping pit in Dean’s chest.  He rubs a hand over his face and forces a smile.  It makes his cheeks ache.  “You know what the cure for that is?”

Castiel’s soft chuckle turns Dean’s smile more genuine.  “I believe I know, yes.”

They’re both silent for a few moments, then Dean caves and breaks the silence.  “But you’re not coming home, are you?”

“Not yet,” Castiel says softly.

Not yet.  It’s not No, and that’s going to have to be enough for Dean right now.  He huffs out a sigh.  “Well have you found a place to stay yet?”

“Yes.  Gabriel helped me find an apartment.”

A soft touch on his arm brings Dean’s attention up to Sam.  In response to his brother’s questioning glance, Dean smiles weakly and gives him a thumbs up.  Sam’s touch on his arm turns into a gentle squeeze and he gets up from the table and leaves the room, giving Dean privacy to speak with Castiel.  It makes him feel guilty for going a little crazy on the guy, but he’ll deal with that later.  Sam’s always up for accepting apologies, especially if they come with a heavy dose of groveling.  Dean’s had enough practice doing it over the years that he’s got it down to an art form.

“Do you have enough money?” Dean asks.  “I can scrape up some credits if you need them.  Or I bet if you call Chuck--”

“Dean I’m fine.  I sold the spare set of eyes he gave me and I should have enough to support myself for a while.”

“Oh.” Dean’s shoulders sink.  It shouldn’t be disappointing that Castiel has figured out how to take care of himself without Dean’s help, but he can definitely feel the mope coming on.  Also, if Cas has money then he’ll have an excuse to stay away longer.  “Any idea how long ‘a while’ will be?”

“I don’t know,” Cas sighs over the line.

An intense need to see Castiel overwhelms Dean.  “Hey, do you think we can switch from audio to holo?  I’d like to see you.”  There’s a hesitation that makes Dean want to flip tables over his own idiocy, because Castiel probably doesn’t want to give away any clues about where he’s at.  “You don’t have to show me where you’re at,” he adds.  “I’m not planning on hunting you down and dragging you back or anything.  But if you want to keep your privacy then I’m gonna respect that too.”

There’s a soft huff of laughter.  “That wasn’t my concern, but thank you.”  

An image of a very small single room apartment materializes around Dean and he sees Castiel sitting on a narrow bed across from him.  Cas is wearing Dean’s clothes under his favorite trench coat.  One of Dean’s non-holey pairs of jeans, and a faded but still colorful t-shirt with a character from an old anime on it.  His hair is rumpled as ever, somehow still always looking like he just took a romp in the sheets even now that he’s got actual growing human hair and not artfully designed hair installed on a robotic body.  And his eyes are red-rimmed, making the blue stand out more vividly.

He’s been crying.

“Cas…” it comes out as little better than a croak, and tears well up in his own eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve been so stupid.”

Castiel smiles, but it’s wobbly.  “You were stupid for the right reasons.”

“Like that matters,” Dean scoffs.  It doesn’t.  It really doesn’t.  Castiel was asleep for that month that Dean was waiting at his bedside, worried that he’d never actually wake up.  He has no idea how tough that was on Dean, and he shouldn't have to.  It’s Dean’s baggage, and he shouldn’t be loading it on Castiel’s shoulders.

“It _does_ ,” Castiel insists, leaning forward intently.  “This is all new.  For both of us.  You don’t have to apologize for being worried about me.”

It’s difficult not to roll his eyes, because they’re always having this conversation.  Someday he hopes Castiel will learn to take an apology on the first attempt.  Maybe Dean should ask Sam to give Cas lessons.   _Hey, Sammy, do me a favor and teach Castiel to appreciate a good grovel when he sees it._ “Yes I do.  I’ve had my head up my ass lately.  Apologizing is the first step to extracting it.”

Castiel hums, his smile firming and his eyes twinkling with mischief.  “That’s a good idea.  The view is far more attractive from the outside.”

The comment startles a laugh out of Dean.  “Are you seriously flirting with me right now?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.  “But in my defense, it is a very nice ass.”

“Come home and I’ll let you ride it as part of my apology.”  It’s a joke, but Dean hopes Castiel will take it as a serious offer.

His hopes are dashed when Castiel’s smile turns wry.  “As tempting as that is, I think it’s better if I stay on my own for a while.”

Swallowing down his protests is physically painful.  “Okay. Whatever you want.”

The words are acid on his tongue, but he resolves to mean them.

“Dean,” Castiel says softly.  “I _will_ come back, I just think it’s an important experience for me to live independently for a time.  But I don’t want to be away forever, because I already miss you.  I love you, and being with you is the future I want for myself.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Dean understands.  And he should have seen it coming, since Sam had gone through the same phase when he became an adult.  Hell, Dean probably would have gone through it too if their parents hadn’t died and left him to take care of Sammy on his own.  It’s completely normal for anyone to want to flex their grown up muscles out in the world.  

And it’s a miracle that Castiel still wants to come back after the way Dean’s been acting, especially after he spent so long supporting Castiel’s ability to make decisions for himself.  When Sam had run off he’d been determined to never come back because he didn’t want to live under Dean’s thumb, and it had taken several years for Dean to rein in his mother-henning and for Sam to trust him not to return to his momzilla ways.  But Castiel still thinks of the bunker as home, still wants to return, still loves Dean, despite everything.

He hides his face behind his hands, unable to share the intensity of love and sorrow and relief and regret hitting him all at once.  It takes him a few heartbeats to gain enough control of himself that he can trust his own voice again.  He drops his hands and tries a smile.  It feels unnatural on his face, and his voice cracks anyway when he speaks.  “Even though I’m a controlling bastard?”

“ _Always_.” It’s spoken so fiercely that it leaves no room for Dean to doubt Castiel’s sincerity.  “I know this is hard for you, and I’m sorry.  But it won’t be forever.”

As long as Castiel doesn’t get eaten by a monster anyway.

Or decide that freedom is more fulfilling than a life lived on the outskirts of society with Dean.

 _No, stop it, you dumbass._  He refuses to let his thoughts turn that direction.  Castiel is making him a promise, and Dean is going to believe him with every part of his being.  And if worse comes to worst, he’s going to accept whatever choice Castiel makes.

“Take however long you need.” He has to force the words out, but he’s going to mean them if it’s the last thing he does.  

Castiel actually laughs.  “I don’t believe you mean that.”

“Fuck no,” Dean retorts with a small chuckle of his own.  “But I’ll pretend as hard as you need me to.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

They smile at each other for a long moment, eyes roving over each other.  Looking for changes, looking for reassurance that nothing has changed.  

And really, nothing has.  They still love each other.  Castiel says he’s as committed as Dean is.  It’s just a break.  A little time apart.  Nothing a strong relationship can’t survive, and Dean believes that’s what they have.  Plus, if this call is anything to go by, there won’t be radio silence while Cas is gone, which is far more than Dean hoped for when he woke up and found Castiel’s personality core hanging from the doorknob.

“I’m glad you called,” Dean finally says into the silence.  “I thought I wouldn’t hear from you for a while.”

“I considered not keeping in communication,” Castiel admits.  “But I couldn’t do that to either of us.  There’s an idiom that misery loves company, and I was feeling poorly until I decided to call you.”

“That’s not exactly what that means, but close enough I guess,” Dean says with a chuckle.  Castiel’s shrug warms his heart and he actually does start to feel a little better.  “So what are your plans next?  Got a hunt on the docket yet?”

“I was thinking I’d start out by taking a nap,” Castiel says.  “I didn’t get very much sleep last night, and it has been a fairly busy day.”

Dean’s pretty exhausted himself between the early wake up and the emotional upheaval.  “Mind if I join you?”

Castiel’s familiar head tilt ratchets his mood up a few more notches.  “How would you do that?”

“Hold on, lemme get to our room.”  Castiel may not be home for a while, but Dean refuses to think of the bedroom as only his anymore.  “Are you planning on sleeping in that?” he asks as he heads out of the kitchen.

“I suppose I could change into something more comfortable.” Castiel plucks at the t-shirt, but makes no move to match action to words.  “I enjoy wearing your clothes.”

“You could take off the coat and pants,” Dean suggests.  Although he’s also kinda resistant to Castiel removing his clothes.  As much as he likes to see Cas naked, seeing him in Dean’s own clothes soothes some of the ache in his heart.

“That’s a good idea.”

He watches shamelessly as Castiel stands to remove his coat and then slides the pants down his legs and pushes them off his feet along with his socks and shoes.  The familiar orange underwear makes him smile, especially since it clashes with the colors of Dean’s t-shirt.  “I’m not surprised you took those with you, ya dork.”

Castiel shoots him a mild glare.  “Hush, you like them.”

He does, but only because Castiel loves them.  And looks hot in them.  “I plead the fifth.”

“That was a statement of fact, not an attempt at interrogation.” Castiel actually goes so far as to stick his tongue out.

Laughing, Dean lets himself into their room.  He kicks off his shoes and removes his own pants before approaching the bed.  A command reorients him into a VR simulation of Castiel’s room.  “C’mon, let’s lie down.”

Castiel’s eyes brighten as Dean’s VR simulation changes his own perception of the room.  He closes the space between them and reaches out to touch Dean’s chest.  The simulation’s haptic features allows Dean to feel Castiel’s fingers slide over his sternum, and when Castiel throws himself against Dean it nearly knocks him off his feet.  Castiel nuzzles into his neck, making his skin tingle under the scrape of his beard stubble.  “It’s like you’re here.”

“Yeah, it’s not as robust as something like Moondor or Oz, but we’ll be able to cuddle.  Sort of.”  Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist and rubs his cheek against his hair.  The simulation doesn’t provide scent, but it does a damn good job of emulating the silkiness of the dark strands.

“My bed isn’t large enough for both of us,” Castiel points out, lifting his head to peer up at Dean.  He’s pouting, which is one of Dean’s favorite things he’s started doing since becoming human.

“The VR system will make it work, don’t worry.  Just lie down, and I’ll join you.”

Castiel looks doubtful, but he follows Dean’s directions and stretches out on the bed.  It’s not quite long enough for his height, and his feet hang off the end.  “It’s not as comfortable as our bed,” Castiel says once he’s settled.

 _‘Our bed’_ gives Dean the warm fuzzies and he doesn’t bother to hide how pleased it makes him to hear Castiel say it.  “Consider it your penance for taking off on me.”

“That’s fair,” Castiel agrees with a chuckle.

Dean ignores the size of the bed as presented to him visually and climbs onto it, feeling the memory foam of their real bed sinking beneath him.  He scoots as close to Castiel as he can, and the simulation provides him with the sensation of body heat and pressure where their knees knock together.  “I hope you end up with a crick in your neck, you dick.”

“Now you’re just being childish,” Castiel accuses while grinning widely.  He wiggles closer until Dean can feel simulated breath on his face.

They spend the next few minutes just watching each other.  Dean is pretty sure that his own face is contorted with the same goofy heart eyes that Castiel is giving him, and for now he feels like everything is going to be okay.  

Castiel’s gaze eventually moves lower, and he reaches between them to finger the glowing pendant hanging from Dean’s neck.  “Thank you for taking care of this for me.”

Dean wraps a hand around Castiel’s.  “This memory core isn’t you anymore, Cas.  I don’t want you to think that if something happens to you I’ll be okay with just uploading a digital backup into a new body.  You gotta fight to stay alive as if there’ll be nothing left of you if something happens.  Okay?”

“Dean--”

“Promise me, Cas,” Dean whispers.  “You wanted to be a human, you gotta accept mortality like one.  Otherwise I’m going to track you down and drag you home.  There’s a dungeon in this place, and I could keep you locked up for the rest of your natural life.”

He doesn’t mean it.  Mostly.

One side of Castiel’s mouth tips up.  “I promise.”

Dean sighs, and another knot in his chest loosens.  “Thank you.”

The silence stretches out between them again, but now that Dean’s horizontal with Castiel he’s not as tired as he was.  A part of him is resisting closing his eyes because Castiel won’t actually be with him when he opens them again, VR connection or not.  He can see that Castiel is also struggling against sleep, forcing his eyes open after steadily lengthening blinks.

He should let him sleep.  And he will.  But he needs just a few more minutes.

“Why didn’t you talk to me before you left, Cas?” he asks into the virtual inches between their faces.

That wakes Castiel back up.  “Would you have let me go if I told you what I wanted to do?”

“No,” Dean admits.

“I suspected as much.”  Castiel disentangles his hand from Dean’s loose grip and pets his fingers over Dean’s cheek.  “I’m sorry this is scaring you.”

Dean snorts.  “That month you were in a coma fucked me up a little, Cas.  It’s no excuse for the way I’ve been acting, but… just so you know where I’m coming from.”

“I know.” Castiel continues tracing Dean’s features.  His eyes flicker across Dean’s cheeks, and he’s probably counting freckles.  “But I’ve been dreaming of Naomi and the brothel and… now you know where I’m coming from.”

Dean winces.  “Okay yeah, I wish you’d said something.  I would have tried harder to back off.”

“What’s done is done,” Castiel says.  His words are slurred, and his eyes are drooping again.  Conversation probably won’t keep him awake much longer.  

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Dean says softly.  He grabs Castiel’s hand again, stopping his explorations, and holds it against his chest.  The simulation lets him feel the pulse at Castiel’s wrist, and should be transmitting his own heartbeat as well.  “I’ll be here if you have any bad dreams.”

Castiel’s smile is warm as he lets his eyes slip shut.  “I love you, Dean.”

“Love you too, Cas.”


End file.
